Tears of Blood, Heart of Ice
by Eroket
Summary: Four beasts, brought together by a common threat: A fox of dark legacy, a ferret and ermine mercenary and their one time foe are pitted against madbeast's plot to hurl the world into war, Please R&R!
1. Default Chapter

Wind and air blew over the lands of Calishan, the stones of the great city unsettled. To the solitary figure on one of the twin cliffs of the mountains known as the Teeth, named for the great gap between them that some quirk of nature had left filled with great stalactites that protruded from the ground, the wind was extremely unpleasant.

Davrag Joris didn't care.

The wind blew his cloak out behind him, billowing out like great wings of shadow, tossing his shorn mane back and brought stinging tears to his amber eyes.

Davrag Joris didn't care.

Now he gazed upon great Calishan, city of his birth, city that dominated his life. He had been feared around this region for most his entire life. Davrag Joris, dread leader of the Five, with a blade that sliced through his many foes at the behest of his employers.

He was a shade of that former glory now. His once statuesque face was twisted and hideous, mark of his defeat at the paws of Aleran Nightblade's bastard brat Eroket.

How could he show his face-unrecognizable as it was- in Calishan again? How Hallic Thargo and Arredon Toroth would laugh and scorn him! How Geras Iridanis would condemn him! He may even be given to Arithia for her sadistic pleasure; a fate that would have been undoubtedly worse than a swift death.

"Will that be my fate?" His cool voice whispered bitterly. "No...I will never let that come to pass. I will take my own life before that ever happens."

He had left his small force of soldiers that had once served under the Living Darkness Vandashira several days behind with orders to catch up when he sent the word. Silter was an extremely able lieutenant and she followed his instructions through to the letter.

Millions of scenarios and thoughts formed in Davrag's mind as he descended the cliff slowly and cautiously. He could not stay away from Calishan, this he knew. He had to return, as stupid as it sounded. This was his home and he'd be damned if he'd let anybeast but himself tell him when the time came for him to step down.

If his old team refused to follow him once more, Davrag was certain he could finish them off one by one. He was the best of fighters on the team, a possible match for Jald Nightson. It was due to his carelessness and ego that he had lost to young Eroket.

Eroket...how that cursed name reared up to bring anguish to Davrag! For months now he had thought obsessively of the young ermine, of his defeat.

Eroket Nightblade would die...this he knew he would have to make a reality. There would be no hiding his defeat. His mutilated face would be proof enough of it. But he could leave the promise of vengeance lingering: On Eroket, on Jald, on Morik Ferin, Boneflower Windlass, on all of them!

That he had killed Eroket's best friend was a small comfort of sorts to him indeed. It left one more name to his ample repertoire of souls he had given to Vulpuz of Hell's Gates and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction to him that the death of his dear friend caused Eroket anguish.

Davrag made a light spring, sliding down the cliff face, footpaws scraping against the rocks, opening small wounds on his sensitive footpads.

Davrag Joris didn't care.

'If you're strong you live. If you are weak, you die.' The code he had fashioned in a blade, the walls he had built around his heart stemmed from these two sentences. He had never lost a fight, whether by foul or fair. He rarely even needed to cheat.

His entire young life had been spent training, killing and training more. He had been taught to never have regrets, never show mercy and never had he been guilty of that crime.

But now he had lost for the first time when it had counted. Was he counted among the weak? Was he weak? Did he deserve to live now?  
Was being weak really that bad?

A face sprang to his mind, though he had not bidden it. It was a youthful face, that of a stoat who could not have been more than seven or eight with bright, eager eyes and a smile that was all too innocent for the harsh world he would soon enter. Soft paws that would be forced to take lives clasped a sheathed dagger to a chest and heart that would soon become a heart of stone and iron.

Arredon Toroth, Davrag's apprentice, prodigy and...adopted son. Why was his face appearing in his mind now? Davrag wanted to scream and curse the fates with all his being. How could he show his mutilated face to Arredon again and admit his defeat? It would shatter Arredon's perception of the world; it would make him weak in his pupil's eyes...

Why did that trouble him so much?

Davrag took a look back at the Teeth and with a slow swallow- cursing the heart that seemed to be pounding in his ears- he started a slow trek to Calishan in the distance. He couldn't run from this more than he had already. It was time to go home.

"I reckon y'stop right there, stoat!"

Davrag cursed himself for a fool as he ground to a halt, suddenly aware of a group of ragged looking beasts that had emerged from the apparent foliage. Damn him for a fool, he hadn't seen them! His head had become mixed with his heart, hurling his focus and control to the four winds.

"I have no money." He replied softly, amber eyes narrowing on the apparent leader of the group, a gangly weasel, "Just leave me alone, I don't want this."

They must have mistaken his kindness for a plea. All at once his words came back to him: 'I don't want this.' He...didn't want to kill them? Just a month ago, he'd have sprung at them, cut them to pieces and maybe torture them just for the hell of it. But now...?

"Those're mighty pretty swords y'be a-carryin', ugly." The weasel replied, leaning forward to prod Davrag with his spear, causing Davrag's fangs to grit, more from the word 'ugly' than from any injury. They didn't recognize him, go figure. He doubted anyone would recognize him now. He'd prefer they didn't.

"Aye, they are, aren't they? They're mine, however. I suggest you turn back if you want to live." Davrag's voice was emotionless, carrying no hint of malice or joy.

"Yer threatenin' us? Crek, you check out that there stoat, show 'im 'is place! Maybe we can see if'n 'e can get uglier!"

The group guffawed and Davrag decided, most blatantly and clearly: 'Fuck it.'

As the stoat, Crek walked forward, Davrag's swords snapped from their sheaths-he had purchased new ones with help from Silter in a previous village they had stopped by in- as took the startled Crek through the throat.

The shock of the vermin lasted seconds and that was all Davrag needed. The swords flashed in their silver dance and two more bandits died before they could recover from their shock.

His defeat must have dulled his senses along with ruining his face. Davrag felt a blade pierce his back, fiery pain at his lower right side. One of them was a knife thrower. Perfect.

Davrag spun, one sword flung like a spear, piercing the throat of the rat who had slung the knife at him. The move was violent and vicious as it was fatal and rat collapsed, a shower of blood drenching Davrag and his companion.

He had no time to pull the dagger out of his own back as he moved again, employing his amazing speed, arm encircling the weasel leader's throat from behind and remaining sword edge pressed to his neck.

"W-wait!" The weasel cried, suddenly terrified and uncomprehending that a robbery could have gone so wrong, "L-lemme live! I-I got kids at home! Lotsa kids, fourtee-"

He was cut off as Davrag's sword sliced across his throat. A second motion pushed the weasel face down. If the weasel was telling the truth, Davrag had just done his family a great service. "Then you should have chosen a safer profession." Davrag replied icily, reaching to the dagger in his back and gasping in agony.

He couldn't take it out. Sudden fear washed over him as he realized the situation he was in. He sheathed his sword, not bothering to retrieve the other from the dead bandit as he stagger forward to the distant Calishan. Maybe, if he could reach it...

That was ludicrous of course. Even if he made it there, nobeast would trouble themselves over Davrag Joris's health, whether they recognized him or not.

As if his previous wounds were aiding the current wounds, Davrag felt the strength drain out of his legs and he fell forward, ground rushing up to meet him. Time ceased to have meaning and in what could have been a minute or a month he was dimly aware of a figure standing over him, and a voice, a young voice whispering. "Lord Davrag...?"  
Davrag's amber eyes rolled to the familiar face as he managed to whisper a name: "Arredon...Toroth..."

And his world became blackness.


	2. Taren's War

_Taren_

A dark gloved paw rapped on the oaken door as their owner settled back, holding a small tray against his chest, sharp ears perked and listening for any trace of sound that would come with the cabin occupants' voice. Few would guess by this beast's cadaverously thin, almost frail figure that he was the second in command of the mighty Death Watch. He could have worn the ranks of 'Advisor,' 'Best friend' and 'Confidant' if such ranks existed.

After what the beast counted as several minutes, a calm and collected voice spoke up, piercing the silence of the evening; "Come in, Mahk."

Mahk Nightblade's cobalt blue eyes remained narrowed against the warm morning air of the tropical weather. It was much too hot for him, especially with the Scarlet Plague raging within his body, kept in check only by his master's generous donation of a special herbal brew that helped to keep Mahk alive. It was a cursed existence, wracked by pain every so often but Mahk accepted it with stoic resignation.

The great corsair ship Wavescythe was docked by the tropical island of Saricath, one of the few Southern Islands that had escaped the notice of the Corsair Lord Dukat Nidas. Wavescythe had once been the pride of Nidas's fleet but skillful tactics on the part of the former Death Watch had seen in a triple loss for the wildcat Wave Lord: the loss of his prized flagship, the death of its crew to the last deckrat and the loss of Saricath.

Of course, this was probably more trouble than it was worth in the long run. Every Death Watcher had faith in their new master and only by his brilliance and ruthlessness had they scored such a victory but the victory earned them the personal enmity of the Wave Lord and a massive bounty on their heads. Already they had made Saricath their base of operations and the island's occupants were thankfully willing to give the group shelter, not counting the less savory of those occupants who now practically deified the Death Watch's young General as their savior. Until the Death Watch's arrival, the corsairs had seen the fearsome monitor lizards as an annoyance and a delicacy to grace the tables of their officers and masters. The Death Watch General had fearlessly approached the leader of the monitors upon the island and asked who his allegiances lay with. Having seen this fox capture the Wavescythe was enough for the monitors to kneel, allowing the Death Watch a group of ferocious and efficient bodyguards.

Not that governing an island was easy. The monitors had to be separated from the other citizens or else their hunger may have gotten the better of them. But while some could find their self control questionable, the Death Watch could not find a single fault with their tenacity or loyalty. The monitors obeyed their lord, a fearsome fellow by the name of Sekh Sobekiaz and Sekh Sobekiaz (It had taken the Death Watch some time to figure out the monitor's odd speech impediment) answered to the Death Watch. More specifically, he answered to their General: Mordath.

The young general was sat back in a captain's chair, crimson fur meticulously groomed as always, one eye gleaming molten crimson while the other radiated icicle frigidness. The eyes caught Mahk, held him fast as he gazed upon his lord and friend's handsome features, nodding once out of his deep respect for the fox.

Mordath, once known as Taren, had taken the mantle of leadership surprisingly well. His sadism was controlled and his habit of masochism had been ruthlessly suppressed. No soldier would have respected for a leader who ran a blade over his own flesh, Mordath had known.

Mahk set the tray down on the captain's desk, covering several maps and charts. If Mordath was annoyed, he didn't show it. Instead he looked at the tray, eyeing what appeared as a small collection of tropical fruit, roast seabird, and... "Mahk, what is this meat?"  
"Care to pour me some wine...Sir?" Mahk replied with a small smile. Mordath rolled his eyes and placed down two goblets on the table, removing a bottle of fine wine that was among the belongings plundered from Wavescythe's crew. Mordath's paw filled the two glasses and he gestured plainly to the goblets. Mahk took one, nodding his thanks.

"No problem." Mordath replied calmly, folding his paws over the fine red tunic that he wore. Since arriving and taking this island, Mordath's name was being whispered by many who were tired of Dukat Nidas's rule, from villager to monitor lizard. Through no intent of his own, Mordath found himself a symbol of rebellion against Dukat, forced to repel attacks against the wildcat corsair king. A practice he had found himself excelling in.

Mahk sipped his wine in a courteous and took a seat. Mordath drummed his claws against the desktop, picking at the meat on his plate and looking to Mahk. "Mahk, what am I eating?"

"Monitor lizard."  
"What?! Monitor- ugh!" Mordath pushed the plate away and took several gulps of wine. "Who the hell was killing monitors? One of our beasts?! I'll have him hanged from the sails, I'll have him-"

"Calm down, Taren!" Mahk replied, raising a paw defensively. Mordath's rage was smoldered and he looked to Mahk for an explanation which the stoat provided in short effect.

"One of Sekh's lizards was causing trouble in the town...apparently some kid was playing and got lost so the lizard thought he'd just 'take a nibble' while nobeast was watching. Tharik was on patrol nearby and remembering your laws, put a shaft through the monitor's skull. Sekh said he wasn't worthy of a decent burial and told us to serve him to you. 'He'll be more uze to Lord Mordath dead than alive...foolz deserve to adorn dinner platez.' I'm pretty sure I got that 'z' thing they do down..."

Mordath tsked lightly and picked at the meat slowly. "Can't really offend them..." He muttered, eating slowly.

"They practically deify you, y'know." Mahk replied with a small smile. Mordath shrugged lightly.

"I know. They're loyal and pretty damn efficient especially when we're caught up in a war I didn't want to start."

"They came after us."

"I lost five good beasts, Mahk."

"You saved another forty five, Taren."

"I guess you're right..." Mordath sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was remembering Sariss, Mahk knew. The fox that had once been called Taren's beloved who had fallen in a skirmish-a foolish, stupid, inane one- brought about by Taren's insane predecessor Visla.

Mahk said nothing out of respect and Mordath leaned back further into his chair, selecting a plump looking fruit and biting into it with relish. "Tell the monitors it's almost time for their vengeance. Tell the Death Watch I want them assembled on the front decks by dawn...no dallying in town with wenches or sweethearts or courtesans or anything."

"Done." Mahk nodded and stood. "What do I tell Kallan?"  
"Put that little snake with the lizards. He should feel right at home." Mordath was

working hard to keep the contempt out of his voice, "When Nidas is dead and this bounty's lifted, we're getting the hell out of this place..."

"Night, Taren." Mahk replied as he rose. "I'll pass on orders to the lads from you?"

Taren nodded once and turned in his chair so his back was to his friend. "Aye."

"You're becoming too adapted to this corsair thing." Mahk replied with a wry smile.

"Shut up and go away." Mordath replied, a tinge of humor in his voice.

Mahk shook his head and closed the door before descending to the crew quarters to see the remainder of the once proud Death Watch, arch rivals of the Calpathions.


	3. Midnight Assassination

The moon hung full over the city of Targas. The hour was late and the streets were deserted of few beasts. It was the time that the law held no authority and the beasts of the night, the murderers, the thieves and the mercenaries ruled the streets.

Such it was that nobeast would respond to a panicked cry for help.

The ferret was racing through the twisted streets, ducking in between allies and houses in hopes he would be rescued. These hopes went unfulfilled. He was being hunted like the lowest creature in the forest, hunted like a dove, like a snake hunts a rabbit.

The rain poured down, the thick clouds obscuring the full moon. The ferret saw a flash of emerald green close by but could not shift direction before a fist crashed into his face, flinging him to the wet ground.

He groaned and struggled up, hearing the unmistakable sound of a sword sliding free of its scabbard. "N-no! Please!"  
There was no response but that of footsteps bringing the owner of the blade closer. Nothing but hard merciless emerald eyes in the scarred, dark face, nothing that even resembled mercy existed in the emerald eyes.

"Jald, I can pay you double! Triple!" The ferret yelled frantically, searching for the nonexistent escape route. "I-I'm worth more alive!"  
The sword slashed down, cleaving through the target's throat and slicing through his windpipe; Choking, the ferret crumpled to the ground, the fear draining from his eyes along with his life as surely as his blood pooled from his slashed throat.

Jald Nightson's sword slashed through the air, blood flying to the ground as the ferret sheathed it, kneeling down to pick up a small medallion from the ferret's torn throat: a crimson colored symbol in the shape of a teardrop, the symbol of a high ranking officer of the Crimson Tears.

"Worth enough dead," Jald replied calmly, sheathing his sword with slow deliberation. A frown curved his mouth as he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. He and Eroket had planned this mission for a long time and the lieutenant was only a small part of it: The true target was Geras Iridanis, the lord of Crimson Tears.

Davrag Joris was dead, Verria, Arithia and Arredon Toroth left behind in Calishan and Geras left his home city to attend to business in Targas, a city Eroket knew like the back of his paw. They'd never have a better chance to assassinate Geras than this.

However, Eroket had elected to pursue Geras himself and bring an end to the crime lord's life. Jald was still uncertain if he had made the correct decision in allowing Ero to go after Geras himself. Eroket had a personal grudge to settle against the ferret and while he showed exceptional progress and skill, Jald was concerned it may be too much for him.

"Hurry it up, Ero…get back alive." Jald was surprised at the anxiety in his voice.

Eroket Nightblade was at this moment racing over the roofs of Targas with speed and agility suited to his lean form, black cape billowing behind him, hood drawn up and amber eyes narrowed tightly as he raced to where we would intercept and kill Geras Iridanis. Tonight, his sword would cut short the life of the ferret who had murdered his father. Tonight, he would claim the life of his former enemy in the Death Watch.

Now! He screamed to himself mentally, ducking into a crouched and springing, powerful legs carrying him into a nearby alley, a crimson paw pressed to the ground and helping him push himself to his feet, another motion removing his hood and a third drawing his sword.

He moved out of the alley swiftly, noting the movements of beasts across the streets; Geras had brought quite the amount of guards.

Eroket could clearly see the ferret leader himself, surrounded by a small group of guards…including two who clearly stood out; one was massive, larger than even Skola Snowshadow, the wolf Eroket had met a year ago. The massive beast was a weasel, dressed in a heavy mail and cloak. Green and red war paint covering his wide face and the sharpened fangs that showed through slashed lips added to the savage Hallic Thargo's monstrous appearance. The second beast was impossible to make out; a thick blue cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, obscuring most of his form, a hood covering his face, but the protruding muzzle and ears gave little doubt of his species: a fox.

So, Geras had bought a new bodyguard, Eroket thought. Big deal, it wouldn't help.

Eroket removed a dagger and took careful aim. He couldn't risk an open battle and had to finish Geras with one good throw. Ready, aim and…

The throw was good but what happened then couldn't have been predicted by anybeast. The cloaked fox spun with frightening speed and tackled the shocked Geras to the ground as the dagger buried itself in the throat of one of Geras's guards.

Eroket's eyes widened in shock that he'd been heard or seen. Well, Geras's money hadn't gone to waste, at least…

The cloaked fox rose, pulling Geras to his feet. Regaining his dignity, the crime boss drew his sword and screamed, "KILL HIM!!"

The guards turned and with a snarl, Hallic twirled his trident. Geras put a paw on the weasel's arm. "I want you and Kirathal to stay here with me for now, Hallic…get me to the meeting!"

Eroket readied his sword as the bodyguards moved forward.

Geras stumbled along, regaining his footing as the first scream lit through the night air. "I have the best guards money can buy…" The ferret muttered. "They'll stop him…"

Kirathal removed his hood, revealing a handsome face of an arctic fox, eyes the color of tarnished sapphires. "No. They will not. Not if his skill is even a quarter that of Jald Nightson and I hear that it is almost equal to the Manticore's now."

Hallic growled angrily. "Almost as good as Nightson?!"

"He defeated Davrag Joris, did he not?"

Geras swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. "What do you suggest, Kirathal?"

Kirathal smiled thinly, the sudden, disturbing glint in his eyes reminded Geras why he had hired the dangerous fox in the first place. "Leave him to me…"

Eroket's sword bit into the stomach of the final guard. Eroket's paw placed itself on the hilt as her transformed the stab into a slice, moving through the guard and spinning away as the corpse collapsed.

A sigh passed his lips. He was hurt, the bodyguards had been good. However, he wasn't so hurt that he couldn't pursue and hopefully finish off Geras Iridanis.

"So, you are the prodigy of my old comrade Jald…"

Eroket whirled to see the fox he had seen earlier, sans the blue cloak. Without it, Eroket noted he was tall (He had hunched himself over before) with a lean build that bespoke of every muscle being tuned perfectly. His fur was shockingly white, that of a beast who lived in the far north. In one paw he carried a thin sword, the point pointing away from the fox diagonally.

Eroket didn't ask how he knew Jald, didn't care who or what this fox was, only that he was an obstacle. "I'm Eroket Nightblade!"  
"Kirathal Frostclaw." The sword dipped up in a salute, a mocking smile playing around the fox's lips. "You are the one…who has made the night cry tears of blood…"

"Save the poetry!" Eroket lunged, slashing at the fox's face. Kirathal's sword snapped up in a block, stepping back and circling Eroket slowly, coming in with a slash to the neck at Eroket's side.

Eroket's blade snapped up, smacking Kirathal's blade away and lunged with a flurry of slashes, finding them parried or avoided…and then it hit him: Kirathal's sword style was exactly the same as his.

"You can't beat me." Kirathal replied coldly. "Even Jald couldn't beat me now."

Impossible...warning lights exploded in Eroket's brain as he moved back to regard the calm fox with new determination. Eroket had never heard this fox's name before, how could a beast better than Jald escape notice in the world of the mercenary? "How the hell-"

"Nightson and I were comrades in a war about…twenty years ago or so. I was an assassin for one side and worked with Jald. I learned his sword style and more than that, I've perfected it." His voice sounded smug. "Now, I don't think I need to explain myself further to you, Eroket Nightblade."

Eroket's eyes narrowed to amber slits as he realized he was facing an opponent far beyond him. This fox wasn't just good, not just a fighter. Eroket could see from the perfect way he coordinated himself, used his muscles in sync with another. Davrag Joris had been amazing, Jald was extraordinary…but Kirathal Frostclaw was something else entirely. "Why is a beast like you working for Geras Iridanis?!" He yelled, hoping to buy a measure of time.

Kirath shrugged. "He paid us and we came. With Davrag Joris dead and the Five collapsed, he needed reliable beasts and we are those beasts. Now, I don't owe even the condemned anything beyond this: Everybeast has to start small…now, stay on your guard. Letting it go around me is a one way ticket to the Dark Forest." He smirked coldly and lowered his sword, but Eroket knew he was ready for any attack. He also took note that Kirathal had said 'we,' however little good it would do Eroket in the future. Eroket also knew he was going to die on the streets. In that moment, his mind was lucid, purged of greed, of hatred and of thoughts for revenge. Kirathal's next comment nearly drained him of his courage and determination, even from a hardened soldier and killer such as Eroket.

Eroket had been a warrior, a mercenary and a soldier for years. He had started killing in his youth and had continued for many, many years. Eroket was an assassin and one of the best in the business but the pure lust for blood and want for violence and destruction in Kirathal's eyes made the ermine's blood run cold.

"There are seven targets…" Kirathal hissed, fangs baring in a savage grin. "Heart! Lungs, kidneys, stomach, throat, carotid artery, jugular vein…what vulnerable place shall my blade find tonight?"

Eroket grasped his blade's hilt tightly in both paws and ran forward, steeling himself for death but hoping to at least wound the wicked fox in front of him before he died. Was this truly the end of him? Would the fates abandon him here to his fate? What, then, had his defeat of General Visla and Davrag Joris been for?

No time to philosophize, no time to ponder, Eroket thought…just time to die.

Kirathal's sword came up in a parry when his footpaw came up to connect viciously with Eroket's gut. He kicked again and sent Eroket's sword clattering to the rain soaked ground.

Before Eroket could recover, Kirathal lunged and seized him by the throat with his free paw. "Game over!"

Eroket felt himself propelled back, felt his head slam against the nearest wall and instantly the strength drained from his limbs. He saw the ground rush up to meet him as Kirathal dropped him as one would discard any sort of refuse. Before consciousness fled him completely, he could hear Kirathal Frostclaw speak and the words would forever brand themselves in his brain even if he lived to be a thousand years old.

"You lost; you are among the weak now. In all rights, I should kill you, but you have amused me quite a bit. Live, Eroket Nightblade! Get stronger! If you can't kill me then hate me until you can! Hate me and curse me and live without honor like the coward you are!


	4. Back to Calishan

Geras Iridanis returned to Calishan in triumph with his depleted retinue.

The ferret crime boss folded his paws behind his back, puffing out his chest proudly and grinning ferociously as he entered his mansion, Hallic Thargo and Sithrin flanking him while the mysterious Kirathal Frostclaw-recently hired- walked calmly at the back of the small train. The arctic fox wore his cloak in a more concealing manner than in his fight with Eroket Nightblade and had gone so far as to wrap a black cloth around the lower portion of his face, leaving only his eyes visible.

Geras's meeting with the heads of Targas's guilds had been successful and with Geras's 'bargaining' (More like demands, subtly covered by the ferret's honeyed words) Targas would shortly be under in Geras's iron fist as well, covered by a velvet political glove.

With Davrag gone for oh so long, Geras had began to feel fear without his top killer and enforcer and had commissioned Sithrin to expend all the resources of Crimson Tears to find a beast who could match Davrag, who could surpass him! Given a few months, Sithrin had found his new idol; Kirathal Frostclaw.

Kirath and Geras had met in a small Calishan tavern and while Kirath seemed willing to sell his sword and the swords of his comrades, something about the mysterious fox didn't ring quite right in Geras's mind. He hid something beyond his love and lust for war and battle; Ambition beyond belief coursed through his veins as surely as his heart's blood. Geras would employ him, but Geras would never trust him.

But with Davrag gone, there couldn't afford to be problems. Sithrin almost adored Kirathal Frostclaw anyways, and the ferret was not a beast noted for his poor judgment.

Kirathal was not a beast who refused to talk about his past. He had the mind of a strategist which he employed in his fights and Sithrin had even claimed a move was utterly useless once the arctic fox had first seen it…but Kirath had been an assassin for the armies of the north in what was known as the brutal Unification Wars where Aleran Nightblade and Jald Nightson had carved their legacy before joining the Calpathions. Kirath had replaced Jald and Aleran as the 'Assassin of the Shadows' in the war. But some beasts-the Snowshadow clan includedincluded- had decided Kirathal's presence, nay, his existence was too dangerous to prolong. If his assassinations-which he had not yet revealed to Geras and that the ferret suspected he would die before Kirathal would ever tell him- were ever revealed, no kingdom in the North would be faced with anything but prejudice and hatred for its leaders. Kirathal had been 'erased' in the wars, a victim of convoluted politics.

But he had survived, and here he was. The beast reputed as the better of the Manticore, better than the Five, better than Davrag!

Geras would have been less enthused if he ever knew Kirathal's true schemes and plans, and especially that Kirath hadn't slain Eroket Nightblade.

Kardran the otter lieutenant nodded hastily to Geras and moved out of the ferret's way, bowing lightly as Geras leaned back on his throne. "What happened while I was gone?"

Kardran swallowed heavily, knowing it was best to get it over with. "The bandits plaguing the trade carvans were exterminated."

"Excellent! Kirathal, your beasts operate better tha-"

"Sir, it wasn't the Ice Wolves' doing…"

"What?!" Geras snarled, more furious at being interrupted than at any contradiction of his words. "Then what, Kardran?!"  
"Davrag Joris…" The otter whispered.

The world seemed to go deathly silent. Geras slumped back on his throne, mouth wide open. Hallic's crimson eyes flew open and a surprised snarl escaped the brute. Sithrin seemed incapable of words.

But Kirathal Frostclaw folded his arms and smirked beneath his mask. Geras finally managed to regain his composure and replied calmly. "What happened, Kardran?"

Kardran took a deep breath to steady himself. He knew his life hinged on how Geras took the news. Geras had replaced Davrag, given up the black stoat for dead…it wouldn't do for a conflict between Davrag and Kirath, the possible result being the victor turning on Geras himself.

Kardran continued, "Arredon was running his scouting mission on the outside of the city when he found Davrag half dead-dagger in the back, face mutilated, he barely looks like himself anymore- The bandits were dead behind him. It wasn't hard for Arredon to decipher what happened…sir."

"Where is Davrag now?" Geras replied softly and calmly.

Kardran swallowed. "Arredon wouldn't stand for anything less than medical treatment. He's half dead in a bed in the third wing."

No beast but Geras and Hallic-even the brute knew what the symbol meant- saw Kirath make a subtle gesture to which Geras put his index to his middle finger and lowered it, a sign of refusal. Kirath shrugged.

Geras rose and nodded to Kardran. "Good work, Kardran." Kardran mentally sighed with relief.

Geras nodded to two of Kardran's beasts. "Hallic, you go talk to Verria and Arithia if she's not busy in her…playroom. Kirath…I want you to go to the other Ice Wolves. I want you to discuss plans for the Western takeover…as well as dealing with the Iridans and most of all, that damnable Jald Nightson!"

Kirath bowed. "Of course…" Everybeast took note that what Geras had said to Kirath had been no direct command.

Flanked by two of his thugs, Geras exited the room

Geras arrived in the medical wing, to the rooms reserved for his top commanders, where Davrag currently lay. A gesture opened the door and he stormed in.

Davrag Joris lay upon the bed, covered up to his neck in a silken sheet, mutilated face-and how a contrast the battle scarred visage seemed to radiate an odd…emptiness? This shell was nothing like the cocky, cruel Davrag of before. He'd been beaten, defeated…and he knew it.

Sitting across from him was the youthful Arredon Torroth, sitting back serenely, watching his mentor almost anxiously. The youth was an amazing killer with some tragic past. Geras didn't really care about that…but Arredon followed orders and would spy, steal or kill without a change of expression. However, Geras always knew his first allegiance was to Davrag and not Crimson Tears. Geras hated the brat as a result.

"Well, look at you!" Geras's voice was thick with contempt as he folded his paws on his hips. Arredon made no move and Davrag just shifted slightly.

"Look at this handsome face…you were crushed and humiliated! Too bad you weren't killed, Davrag! You deserved it for that horrific job bungling."

Jald was no longer in Geras's service; Geras had lost face and ground to the Northern Lords and even to the Corsair Lords in the south. Kirathal's Ice Wolves were more than just a good business decision; they were the necessary tool for Geras's domination and very survival!

"Demon? Master of the Blade? Fucking joke!" Geras grinned confidently as neither Davrag nor Arredon did a thing to stop him. His paw extended. "More like a sad, little baby demon who can't play any-AAAAGH!"

Before he got near taking hold of Davrag, Arredon was moving in a blur, paw gripping Geras's forearm with unearthly strength, his face a mask of cold rage. "Don't you…ever defile Lord Davrag with your touch."

By Vulpuz, his grip was steel! A million fires raked across Geras's arm as Arredon bent it back. He wrenched it away with a scream of pain, hoping it wasn't broken.

His guards moved forward, two big weasels-not Hallic's size of course- swords moving.

And suddenly they froze as Arredon blurred again, disarming them, swords crisscrossed across his narrow chest, tips touching the necks of the guards. It was clear their lives would end if Davrag willed it…Geras would never leave this room if Davrag willed it!

"Enough, Arredon," Davrag replied calmly, easing himself into a sitting position, piercing amber eyes- unchanged by his injuries-scrutinized Geras, "I screwed up. Arredon's told me the change of development and I frankly don't care much."

Geras's glare was one of pure hatred but Davrag was undaunted. "I have my own vendettas…you will NOT interfere in them. Master," He added as an afterthought, lips twisting in a cold parody of a smirk.

Geras practically ran from the room, cradling his arm against his chest.

Kirathal sat back in his seat, eyeing the other foxes that made up the Ice Wolves. "Well, what do you lot think?"

Sithrin had been left behind now. Kirath found he liked the brilliant ferret, for his nimble mind and unwavering devotion.

The Ice Wolf Kirath directly addressed, Tethik was slim and of average height, short spear held at attention pose. Tethik was a beast Kirath valued highly in battle for Tethik's supposedly 'supernatural' battle powers, but Kirath never trusted the other fox, nor dropped his guard around him.

Tethik had been blinded by Kirath during a fierce sword duel during the Unification Wars years ago and now lived-as he said-to kill his master and one time enemy. He had joined reluctantly, on the condition if Kirath ever lost his edge or dropped his guard; Tethik would be around to end his master's life.

The many years had been kind to Tethik, who now wore a bandanna around his mutilated sockets and dressed in flamboyant crimson colors. In battle he was invaluable, if untrustworthy asset. Tethik was violent and sadistic to the extreme and one of the best fighters of the Ice Wolves

"I don't like the sound of it, Kirath." Tethik replied calmly, informal as always, tapping his spear shaft against the ground lightly. "Geras is clearly reaching…"

"I've got that already." Kirath leaned back. His beasts knew his flippant attitude, but knew he wasn't dismissing Tethik so much as contemplating.

"Harkon?" Kirath's gaze flicked up to the second of the Ice Wolves, a fox larger than all of the others, but with a quiet and calm intelligence in his eyes. Kirath had been lucky to find Harkon. He was a good beast at heart, true, but his paw-to-paw skills were absolutely beyond compare. Harkon had been a healer at one point but had grown sick of the world's cruelty and its pains and had resolved if a change must be made, Harkon would usher it to that change and he would do it at Kirath's side.

"No thoughts." Harkon replied with a light shrug. Kirath shrugged lightly and turned to the last member of the present Ice Wolves: Curian.

Curian was the brightest and the medium of pacification of the present trio, A nimble mind and sword arm with a wit nearly matching Kirath's. Curian wore a variety of weaponry. All taken from deceased enemies; the golden furred fox considered himself a 'collector.' And he took his collection from the dead or from other swordsmiths, the rarer the better.

The prize Curian desired most was the blade that Serion Redfletch had made…the one that Jald Nightson wore at his hip.

"I say we take an opportunity," replied Curian with an icy smirk. "We can slam a village probably, make it ours. It's small…but it's a start, Lord Kirathal."

Kirath sat back, looking to Harkon who shrugged lightly and to Tethik who-oddly-nodded as if he just felt Kirath's eyes upon him.

Kirath smiled. "Decision made…gentlemen, what should we devastate first?"

Kardran's pen scratched across the paper frantically

'Davrag Joris is alive, two Calpathion survivors reportedly dismantling Crimson Tears interest. Situation is becoming desperate, Ice Wolves growing stronger.'

He sighed and rubbed his temples. Infiltration was a deadly game. He was lucky Geras hadn't recognized him, but the ferret probably never bothered to recall beasts he'd seen in passing, so huge was his ego. 'Kardran' hated the life of a crime lieutenant and hoped his 'superiors' would bring it to an end soon. He needed only pass this message off secretly. That was the easy part.

He brought the quill down and wrote two more words

'- Commander Riverblade.'


	5. Odd dreams and Damascus's Legacy

A/N: Hasril, Hardin the Taggerung and Damascus Flame are copyrighted to TDC/Quinlanofredwall and his stories and used with permission.

_W-what's happening? Am I…dead?_

The sun shone clearly across the cloudless sky, shining down on the figures standing on the flat plains, booted paws crunching the grass beneath them. The dreamer could see two figures, facing one another, eyes locked as surely as any sword.

"Will you throw your life away for this, Aleran?!" The speaker was a clearly youthful looking ferret, younger than Eroket himself. He couldn't have been above sixteen, if he was even that. But Eroket recognized him instantly; there was no mistaking that silver-streaked ebony fur, those emerald colored eyes and the sword that then looked too large for such a youth.

"We have no choice, Jald! We've come all this way…we escaped the Academy together. War is coming, Jald, you know that…" The second speaker was more elegantly dressed, but just as young. His tunic was a rich cream color and his cloak was deep blue, contrasting with his shocking white fur and deep golden amber eyes.

_Father…?_

"Will you fight, Aleran? Will you risk your life for a cause not your own?"

"I'll fight to protect a land I've come to love!" The ermine shot back at the ferret, eyes narrowing.

"You'll die, Aleran…just another lowly, noname soldier who nobeast will ever remember! You want your little brother to remember you like that? You think it'll help Kalis and Visla if you fall?"

Aleran stared at his comrade for a long moment. How different those two seemed, Eroket's mind wondered; the famed comrades, Jald Nightson and Aleran Nightblade, heroes of the Unification Wars…and now he saw them together.

"We're mercenaries, Jald, and it's not our place to question, it's our place to get the job done!"  
"That's all well to you?!" Jald screamed suddenly, fury etched in his green eyes, fury so intense that even Aleran looked taken aback, "I don't…I don't want to die, Aleran!"

"So fight and don't die." Aleran answered simply, paw resting on his sword hilt. "You've been my friend and comrade for years now, since we ran from the Academy four years ago. I promise I'd never let you die…"

"Stop talking to me like I need protection," Jald yelled angrily, folding his arms across his broad chest, breathing heavily and slowly. "Don't treat me like some stupid kid. The Academy took care of any part of that a long time ago, Aler."

Aleran Nightblade sighed and replied, "The Calpathions are on the side of the Imperialists in this, Jald. Those who want to establish the kingdoms out of the warlord controlled lands. I'm going to fight, you know that. I don't plan to get killed either!"

Jald and Aleran glared at one another for what seemed like ages before Jald replied calmly. "Why do you need me?"  
Aleran's response was almost automatic. "You and I are the best, even if we're young. We're symbols; we're hope itself to our comrades. We give them reasons to fight. I could charge an army and I know they'd be racing alongside me. I can't abandon them, Jald Nightson. And neither can you."

Jald's only response was sullen silence. "You're right as always, damn you."

Aleran offered him a small smile and closed the gap between them with a few steps, placing a paw to Jald's shoulder. "Comrades?"  
"Comrades." The ferret's paw clapped the ermine's as the ermine drew him into a tight embrace. Aleran smiled. "I've never been averse to doing things by force."

"Neither have I…" Jald suddenly stepped back, drawing his sword from its place on his back with a quick motion. "Draw your sword."

"Jald, what're you-?"

"The best. It's time to decide which one of us that is. This will be the fight between us for the title of The Greatest."

Aleran sighed lightly. "First blood? I don't want to end up killing you."

"Whatever." Jald growled, lowering himself into a stance Eroket knew all too well.

"Ah, very well, Jald," Aleran did not lower himself. He did nothing beyond draw his sword, resting the other paw on his hip. "Like I said, I quite like getting things accomplished by force!"

As the two closed in on one another, the scene seemed to shift, to blur, before it took focus again.

_Father….Jald…._

They were older and more weathered, scarred, paws calloused from the many years of holding their swords, the faces of those who had seen many battles.

Aleran's handsome, youthful features were almost identical to his younger self, but there was a maturity to him, a wisdom that seemed unsuited to one still so young.

Jald stood by him, largely unchanged as well. Taller and broader, as well as showing some of the signs of bloodlust that would consume him for a time in his older days, "So, the last stand of the Kurios clan came to nothing."

Aleran nodded, a light smile crossing his lips, "Kirathal did his job well…Drekrin Kurios was slain when he tried to get to his ship."

"And we led the Calpathions and cut off Traith before he reached the mountains." Jald finished, a satisfied grin crossing his lips. "The Unification Wars are over. We won."

"Yeah, I know…how does it feel, Jald? That by our blades, we brought about the birth of kingdoms?"

"Hungry actually, you wanna get back to camp and grab dinner?"

"I'm trying to be poetic…"

"And failing, let's eat."

The two glared at one another for a moment before they both began to laughs lightly, bursting into loud, affectionate laughter, clapping one another on the shoulder before walking downhill to what Eroket could see was a camp with a familiar symbol…and two figures at the head.

Kalis and Visla Deiran. Kalis was younger and less stiff and commanding as he had been later in life and Visla…Visla was smiling, laughing and joking, handsome face unscarred and free of burns.

And then his world became darkness...

Darkness…

"Eroket!"  
Eroket's world focused, becoming blurry and then focusing on the face of Jald Nightson. "Dammit, Ero, speak to me!"

His throat was dry and parched, it was pain to speak. "W-water…" He managed to croak.

Jald moved swiftly, grabbing a glass of water and with surprising tenderness, lifted the ermine's head up slightly, holding the water to his lips. "Sip slowly, Ero…"

Ero drank the entire glass in a matter of minutes, "Where are we?" He asked when his throat felt better.

"Rozatta's," Jald replied with a wry smile, "I found you with your skull cracked against the wall. Thankfully, I remembered you had friends here-where, incidentally, Boneflower and Morik are staying- and hauled you over here….got a free room instantly. You've been out for days. How the hell did Geras Iridanis do this to you, Eroket?"  
"Wasn't Geras…" Eroket muttered, letting his head slip back on the pillow, memories of that dream-if it even was a dream- rushing back to his mind, "Had a new bodyguard. His name was Kirathal…"

Jald seemed to freeze suddenly, mouth dropping open and shutting quickly. "Was he a fox?"

Eroket nodded and Jald continued, almost frantically, "And his fur was white? His eyes blue? He used a single blade, one pawed?"

Eroket nodded again and Jald whispered, "Oh no…"

Eroket looked up, a sudden terror creeping through him. What could frighten Jald Nightson so? "Who is he?"

"Kirathal, back when I was in the Unification wars, was a free striking assassin for our side. He was good too, the best assassin I've ever seen. I heard he died after me and Aleran left though. He shouldn't be alive, Eroket…it's, it's…"

"He said he knew you."

"He wasn't lying. Kirathal was another student of Serion Redfletch and like me and your father, Serion made him a sword. Kirathal was…he hated how the armies worked; said he couldn't stand us soldiers dying for causes not our own when our leaders reaped the glory. He was-is- a very, very dangerous fox."

"Yeah, no kidding," Eroket touched his head tenderly. "He let me live."

"You're lucky," Jald muttered, frowning. "Geras knows we tried to kill him and he's got Kirath working for him. Dammit, we have to get out of here!"

Eroket nodded, silent for a moment before he whispered, "Jald…what are we fighting for? We live, we fight but nobeast does recognize us. We murder the corrupt for the corrupt but nothing ever changes. You'll never find the name Eroket Nightblade or the name Jald Nightson in a history book. What…what are we, Jald? We fight the wars, it's us who wins them, but…will anybeast ever know we lived in a century, like Martin the Warrior of Redwall? Hardin the Taggerung, he'll be remembered I'm sure, but us?"

Jald sighed, "I can't give you that answer. I never intended to leave my name in any history and I still have no intention of doing so. But if it's fame you want, then you're in the wrong line of work. Sometimes it's enough just to fight for yourself."

For a long time, Eroket Nightblade said nothing and when he finally spoke, his words were hard and cold. "We go south. When Geras sends his beasts after us, we're going to bury them."

Jald smiled lightly, feeling a sudden ache of an old scar-the wound on his chest he had been given many years back, the deciding blow in the duel between him and this ermine's father. "That's what I wanted to hear you say, Eroket."

Eroket nodded and replied with the same steel in his voice, "Train me more. If you can't, get me to somebeast who can. I'm going to get better and when the time comes, Kirathal Frostclaw and Geras Iridanis are going to have their histories ended by me."

"We have it…" Geras Iridanis whispered breathlessly, looking at the large cask two muscular rats held between them, a grin spreading over his face. "All that gold, all those years…but finally, we've found it all!"

The crime lord rose and walked to the cask, opening it gingerly and slowly, afraid to damage a single one of its precious contents.

Kirathal Frostclaw stood close by with Hallic Thargo, smirking slightly. "And what did you spend so much on to obtain, Geras?"

Sithrin the ferret, intelligence coordinator and strategist for Crimson Tears was the one to answer, eager to prove himself once more to the fox he was devoted to: "You know of the Labhras Pirates, Lord Kirathal?"

"Of course, go on."

"Then you know of their secret weapon?"

Again Kirath nodded, now very interested. Sithrin continued, clearing his throat. "Well, when Hasril purchased the…recipe from the stoat Damascus, Damascus feared a possible betrayal. He hid a cache of the weapon away as well as the formula itself. Hasril never discovered Damascus's Legacy, and it eventually circulated, piece by piece in the black market, but was too valuable to ever be used.

Kirath's eyes gleamed, "You don't mean…"

Geras laughed and his paw came up, holding a vial of fluid. "We have right here, gentlebeasts, the last bit of Damascus Flame in the entire world…I'll have it transferred to my stronghold in the east immediately!" He grinned widely, forgetting about the agony in the army Arredon Toroth had twisted and looked to Kirath, "Dispatch some of your soldiers to Targas, Kirathal. I don't want to let Jald Nightson live longer'n I have to."

Kirath bowed lightly, "As you request, sire. I have anticipated this request and I recommend Harkon, Curian, your own Kardran and Hallic and Jirik for the job."

Geras blinked, "Jirik Varkril? Are you certain, Kirathal?"

Kirath smirked lightly. "Jirik is-let's not mince words-insane to the extreme. He lives and loves to kill and that makes him a controllable Ice Wolf. I won't send Tethik or Kallia unless things get too dangerous. Hallic, our supreme warrior and Harkon, a healer, brilliant planner and with the strength of a badger when enraged, Curian who has desired the blade of Jald Nightson and Kardran who will lead the group as he has experience."

Geras nodded, considering the fox's decision. "You show excellent judgment as always, my able bodyguard…how go your soldiers' little…activities?"

"Another three villages submit to your rule, milord."

Geras grinned, "Excellent. I have the remnants of the Five. The Ice Wolves and their army, and with this…" He gave the vial of Damascus Flame an almost loving stroke, "There is nothing that stands in our way. Nothing."

Kirath was glad Geras didn't burst into insane laughter. He'd heard that from many an employer and frankly, even for such a skilled fighter and killer, it got old very quickly.


	6. Revelations and recollections

_"So, you'll follow their orders and end the life of your old friend, Jald?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Hah….hahaha….HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!" The fox threw his head back, laughter escaping from his mouth into the chill air of the winter._

_The ferret's eyes were focused, determined; but sadness lurked beyond the stony façade. "Kirath…"_

_"Apologizing? You'd DARE apologize to me after coming to kill me?"_

_"It's an order."_

_"Damn orders." The fox replied, scorn in his voice. "They're afraid, they're all afraid! We fought to end the warlords' dominion of the north and what is our payment? The moment the war ends, our lives are worth nothing to them!" His sapphire eyes were wide, fangs bared in a grin, "Serion is dead, isn't he?"_

_There was a nod and the ferret's voice faltered. "His brother, the chieftain, found out he was helping us...He killed him…he ate him."_

_"Round and round the wheel turns," Kirath sneered lightly. "Well, you, Aleran and I bear the three greatest works of his legacy. I do love my sword, Jald. It's been my treasured companion for years now."_

_"Kirath, if things were different-"_

_"Damn that! A change of circumstances and it'd be me in your position! My soldiers depend on me..." He whispered, almost to himself._

_"What?"_

_"Curian was an agent sent to steal swords so we could analyze their skills. He's grown to love those blades. The affection he shows polishing them would be the equivalent of a lover's kiss. When the war is over, will they take the swords he's adorned over his bed from him? Harkon, the child I saved from that cult…he's merciful, he's a skilled healer, but he's dangerous because he knows how to kill a beast with his bare paws. Will they 'erase' him too? Kallia, I took her from that camp where they used her as a whore. I killed them, took her with me and taught her to fight…can you look her in the eye and say you killed me! Jirik, who is losing his mind to the scent of blood…can you tell us to put away our swords when this is all over?! Can YOU put your sword away when it's over?!  
The ferret had no answer save one question: "What is it you want?"_

_"It should be simple…I don't want to rule, Jald. I don't care about hierarchies…or powers. I don't even care to be the best, Manticore, have the title, I care not for it! I…just don't want to be useless when the war ends, Jald. Serion told us to find out purpose outside of war. You've done that…you and Aleran. But me? I was used as a killer. I was sent on job after job, ending the lives of so many. It's my life, Jald. I can't imagine another. I want to kill and kill and I want to keep killing until I die! I want to rip down the kings from their thrones! I want CHAOS! Anarchy; a world of perpetual, unending war where we soldiers are revered and never again thought useless."_

_"You're insane."_

_"They say that about every idealist. Come on, brother, cut me. Go on, why hesitate?"_

_The ferret's paws gripped his sword tightly, eyes closed, "Shut up…"_

_The fox laughed and withdrew a dagger. "You're too soft; you can't kill a beast you grew up with, a beast you called your friend and brother. Well, don't worry. I can see it in your eyes…just like Jirik, you'll be lost in the smell of blood and find your only meaning in the clash of steel on steel. Goodbye, Jald."_

_The ferret didn't cry out or try to stop him. He didn't nothing as the fox ran the blade across his wrist. He didn't stop to check the body for vital signs-maybe…he didn't want to know._

_He just kept walking and soon he vanished into the night._

-------

Eroket Nightblade awoke with a gasp, wiping a crimson paw over his brow. "Dammit, not again!"

The ermine sighed and reached for his sword, moving into a sitting position and flinging aside the rough blanket and looked to the dwindling campfire. "Jald?"

"I'm awake…" Was the gruff response, followed by "Did you have another weird dream?"

"Yeah…" Eroket's eyes looked up to Jald, "He called you 'brother.'"

Jald's eyes closed, but he reacted in no other way. "Heh, well…you never did ask about his past."

"You knew him?"

"Very well," Eroket had never before seen Jald look like this: old, tired and sad.

"How?" The young ermine, shifted forward, curiosity alight in his amber eyes.

"I never knew where he came from."

"Jald, stop holding out on me, damn it!" Eroket snarled suddenly, standing up. "If we're taking this guy on, you're sure as hell going to tell me whatever you know!"

For a moment, Jald's eyes narrowed and Eroket feared he'd gone too far, but then Jald sighed again. "I told you the truth as far as it went. Kirathal's group, the Ice Wolves was formed during the war: An elite assassination team. Kirath, your father and I were the trainees of a master of the blade, known as Serion Redfletch…you remember, the master of the forge…made this sword and my past one. Kirath always followed his fighting style, but never his philosophies. Kirath's job put him in the center of everything, hiding among civilians. What he began to see changed him…and he hated the thought of a war ending and soldiers being disbanded. He couldn't imagine a life without his sword and it terrified him. The Ice Wolves he built around him were Curian Silak, a beast who specialized as a spy to capture our enemy's forge master's best blades so we could analyze their skill. He had a passion for blades himself and they paid him with the blades he loved best.

"Harkon, Kirath told me, was young when he was kidnapped by some cult that taught styles of paw to paw fighting and trained children as assassins. We wiped them out and Kirath took Harkon with him. Jirik Valrik was another skilled soldier who was an assassin. He wasn't as skilled though and he's a complete psychotic. He lives to kill, women, kids, doesn't matter to him. The last member I know of is Kallia. Kallia's family sold her to the army when she was a bit older than you when we found you…being female, though, you can guess what she went through. Kirath killed them all with Curian and Jirik and took her with him.

"Kirath is the most dangerous of them all. I can't even tell you if the others are still alive…it just…I don't know what he's doing with Geras. He's clearly using him, but Kirath…he hates beasts like Geras who deprive swordsbeasts of honor. And as for Kirath being alive…he probably using the snow to keep the bleeding down until the other found him…wrist cuts aren't always fatal…I guess I didn't want him to die then. It was before I lost myself to The Manticore name."

"Seems to achieve our dreams, we make some sacrifices." Eroket replied. "If Kirath is such a stone cold killer, Jald, why did he let me live?"

"You think I have any clue, Ero? Maybe he was honoring some debt to Aleran, maybe he thought he could use you later-Jirik only joined after Kirath beat him in a duel. In any case, I don't know. I can train you more, but you think you're capable of beating him?"

"I…" Eroket looked down, brow furrowing, "What if he's right? He worked for them and they backstabbed him. I saw things too…when I was in the Calpathions, warring with the Death Watch I saw homes destroyed, dreams crushed, lives devastated…My family died because of a war…and he may have the right idea, wanting us to always be recognized, but I can't approve of the methods. To answer your question, Jald: If it means even one beast never goes through what I did, I WILL kill him."

There was no masking the steel in Eroket's voice as he continued. "I sympathize, I really do…I can understand as one warrior to another. But he's in my way to Geras for one and he's proven himself my enemy." Eroket's eyes gleamed in the dying firelight. "It's not about getting stronger to me now, Jald, that's a means to an end…I am going to kill Kirathal Frostclaw and I'll do it for free."

Jald had to keep himself from smiling. "Are we mercenaries or heroes?"

"Remember what I said about the anonymous guys who make history?" Eroket smiled, "I'm not a hero, I don't want to be…we're just the guys acting behind the scenes."

---

Davrag Joris tensed amazingly as Arredon removed the stitches from his back. "That hurts, you little wretch!"  
"Please stay still, Lord Davrag, I've almost got it.'

Davrag snarled, grinding his teeth together as Arredon finished. "You could have given me something to drink first!"  
Arredon's youthful face smiled at him as he turned, adjusting his shirt and folding his arms, a light grin-or what passed a grin- appearing on his mutilated features. "How's the situation with Geras?"

"Bad. Arithia and Verria won't even look at me. Hallic's left on some expedition. I'm the only one left who's loyal to you…the Five have broken."

Davrag's golden eyes shut, breathing heavily for a moment. Concern flickered upon Arredon's features but Davrag waved him off and sat on the bed. "Silter and the others?"

"Loyal. She sent a scout to see what happened. I met with him a few hours back."

"Good work..." Davrag replied a bit numbly, looking down. "It's all falling apart, Arredon…what I built…My whole damn LIFE!"

"Lord Davrag!" Arredon's paws flew to his shoulders, "Calm down…"

Davrag shook his head, "Look at me, Arredon…I lost a fight for the first time ever. I lost to that kid…I believed always the strong could do whatever they wished…if I lost, what does it make me? What can I do if I've lived a lie?!"

"Calm down!" Arredon growled lightly. Davrag looked up and Arredon frowned, "Are you…?"

"No." Davrag replied quickly, moving a finger to his eye. "Some dust, nothing more…how'd Geras save face?"

"He brought no name thugs with him. Kirathal dispatched them almost instantly, which just led to more questions. If not for Kirathal and his group, there would definitely be an uprising against Geras. Few have respect for him anymore and he's not daring to bed Arithia anymore."

Davrag nodded once, sighing to himself. "Eroket Nightblade, what word of him?"

"No word, yet…some say Kirathal killed him, others say Kirathal let him live….you considering vengeance, Lord Davrag?"

Davrag shook his head numbly once more. "No…I don't want vengeance…I should hate him but...I feel nothing but a sense of response and I hate that. I'm not even sure if I want to kill him..."

"You're saying strange things, Sir."

"I feel strange, Arredon..."

"Too strange," A voice growled lightly. Both looked up to see Verria standing in the doorway, arms folded. "I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it!"

"Verria."

"You…lose a fight after all that preaching about the strong!" She snarled at him angrily, disgust cloud her features. "Look at that hideous mask…and now that talk…you're not Davrag! You're a shell of him. I should ki-"

Arredon's eyes narrowed and he stood. "Miss Verria, you're crossing some lines."

Verria's eyes narrowed, "Shut up, kid, or you'll be getting some tainted meat for break-"

Davrag's amber eyes bore into hers, the single cold look stealing away her taunts and anger. "There is nothing worse than dying alone. Take it from me, Verria! Davrag Joris as you knew him may be dead, but I find it uneasy to rest in my grave. Make no mistake, while my feelings confuse me, I WILL defend myself from you. Get out of my sight."

Verria tried to retain her dignity and stormed out with a snarl. Davrag sighed. "Glad I can intimidate still."

Arredon clapped lightly, "Bravo, sir!" He smiled charmingly and Davrag rolled his eyes.

"You stop patronizing me," He scolded lightly and leaned back, a smile spreading over his features.

"Eroket Nightblade…are you the strongest? Stay alive, damn you…I'll know whether to thank you or kill you when we next meet…So stay alive and don't let Kirathal beat you…"

He smirked and it was hard to tell with such ruined features what the gesture was intended as, even to Arredon. "I'll be waiting."


	7. Ice Wolf plots and assassinations

"Jirik…" Kirathal Frostclaw's voice cut into the black fox's ears and orbs of pure crimson looked up and locked upon Kirathal's own.

"Lord Kirathal," The black fox replied in a slow, soft drawl with a small smirk and bow, "How long has it been since you have come to see me without an escort?"

Tethik and Jirik vied for second place as the best among the Ice Wolves and if Tethik was imposing, Jirik was terrifying; even Kirathal was wary about the blood-thirsty fox. Kirathal had met Jirik in the wars, assassins among the same side, but while Kirathal enjoyed his work, Jirik reveled in it.

Bloodshed and destruction kept Jirik happy; the suffering of others was the dessert on his dinner table. He was one of the most skilled of the Ice Wolves and in some ways; some would have considered him the most dangerous.

He obeyed one beast only: Kirathal Frostclaw.

"It has been a long time since we have had a situation like this, Jirik Valrik," Kirath replied, a light smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth but not reaching his eyes.

"Geras holds your loyalty well, Commander."

"Geras is a fool," Kirathal replied bluntly, stepping further into Jirik's room, paw resting upon his sword hilt at all times.

"Ah, Kirathal," The velvet voice came as a throaty purr, "Tell me we do not need him anymore…"

"Unfortunately, I cannot." Kirathal replies calmly, staring at Jirik with cold authority, causing the other killer's eyes to narrow.

"Then why have to come to me? It has been…almost two days since my blade has last had its drink…She is thirsty, as am I. Tell me, Kirath, that you have come to me to give me an assignment. Going too long without…death makes me antsy. Whenever that happens, I tend to forget myself and just want to kill everything I see..."

"I know," Kirath replied with an approving grin, "You're correct, Jirik, I have an assignment for you."

The dark fox shifted on his bed, facing his leader. "I am listening…"

"I want you to go with Hallic Thargo-"

"You want him dead?"  
"Shut up and listen!" A snarl escaped Kirath as the single statement stretched his patience thin. Jirik's eyes narrowed to slits, but he managed to control himself and obey his commander. Kirath was not leader for nothing and if he ever showed weakness in front of Jirik, the sadist would judge it as perpetual inadequacy and attempt to remove Kirath.

"You are to accompany Harkon, Curian and Hallic on an expedition down south, where Geras's agents tell him Jald Nightson has fled. Your orders are to bring me the head of Lord Nightson."

"Indeed…I thought you would not desire his death, Master."

Kirath's expression didn't falter in the slightest and a slow smile spread over his lips. "No. I don't care who has to die for my dream, Jirik. Be it Jald Nightson or Serion Redfletch who stood in my way. Jald is now an obstacle in that he is a thorn in the side of our puppet. Geras is, even now, buying into my plan and negotiating with Wave Lord Dukat Nidas. Obey me, and carrying out the Wave Lord's plans to dispatch his rivals will be yours and yours alone, to kill all his enemies."

Jirik's eyes gleamed with undisguised anticipation and his tongue ran over his lips. "You are a generous one, Kirathal."

"Earn my generosity. Bring me the head of Jald Nightson."

"May he suffer?" Jirik's velvet contained a hint of eagerness.

"As much as you want…oh, he may have a companion or two. Do whatever you wish with them."

"Even Eroket Nightblade?" Jirik sat back, taking his sword and began to polish it methodically.

"Even Eroket Nightblade. As much as I desire to drag out a proper warrior in him, as well as fight him again," A fierce grin spread over Kirathal's face, "A beast of his father's level! Think of that, Jirik. I never battled Aleran and I SO wanted to fight him. To fight with Eroket, the one who could even surpass him…it gets me excited. But, if he'd be killed by a sadistic bastard such as yourself, then I know I'd be hyping myself up for nothing when he DID arrive. Better he die to you then and not have me waste my time." Kirath waved his paw calmly, "And one more thing, Jirik: Any beast who crosses your past, I don't give a damn who gets in your way: If they see you they cannot be allowed to live! Kill them, torture them, do as you wish! This is MY order!"

There was silence for a long moment and only then did Kirath realize Jirik was laughing.

"Heh heh heh heh heh…You are a generous one, my lord. I am right to serve you still. I will bathe in the blood of those who oppose me…for your glory, of course. To this world of eternal bloodshed, I'll drink to it. I just have one question: why not Tethik?"

"Good. And Tethik clings to the devotion of his dead era too much. I can't trust him out of any loyalty to me like I can with the others. He's good, no doubt about it, but I won't send him with two of my more loyal followers. This is your job, Jirik, as I know you can control yourself when it'll heighten your fun later." Kirathal rose, watching Jirik cautiously still. Sometimes, the fox was easily controlled, such as times like this. "You leave tomorrow."

"I know you're using me, Kirathal, as a measuring stick against the child you desire to battle. I don't mind."

Kirath smirked, "I'd be disappointed if you couldn't even figure that out. Good night, Jirik."

Kirath backed out the door calmly, never taking his eyes off the black fox. After he had left, Jirik calmly brought his sword to his arm and made a tiny slash, relishing the crimson flow of blood, small as it was. Still, if Kirathal had his way, the scarlet fluid would flow like an ocean soon. Another mark, yes…many small crosses ran up the flesh of his arms. Jirik liked to keep memos of his missions, a nick for when the job began and another nick to complete the cross when it ended.

So, the job was to torture and kill anyone and everyone he saw along this trip, minus his allies? Sometimes it seemed like Kirathal Frostclaw did not ask for much.

-------

Kirathal smirked lightly to himself as he made his way back to the Ice Wolves' meeting room. "Gentlebeasts."

Sithrin bowed quickly, "Lord Kirathal, welcome."

The vixen Kallia, the only female member of the Ice Wolves, sat close to her master quickly. A colleen in her mid teens when he had found her, Kirathal trusted the vixen more than any other member of the Ice Wolves save perhaps Harkon. Kirathal knew Kallia loved him and he took advantage of the fact, entrusting the vixen with his own personal safety as his personal guard. "How is Jirik?"

"Jirik," Was Kirathal's smirking response, a flicker of movement catching his eye; with a quick spin, Kirath was on his feet, sword drawn in time to parry a short spear stab at his neck, "Closer this time, Tethik." He replied in a hearty, almost friendly tone, but Tethik could hear the smugness in his tone.

The blind fox forced his mouth into a smile that hid the animal rage and frustration mounting within him, "You barely managed to block this time, Kirathal."

Sithrin's eyes narrowed harshly and Kallia's paw drifted to her sword but Kirath waved a paw lightly. "Calm down, Kallia, my dearest…Tethik was not overstepping his bounds: He can do that under any circumstances he wishes. He's just lucky that I need him. And good job, Tethik, maybe next time, you'll have me."

Tethik's ego kept him from catching the sarcasm within Kirathal's voice and Sithrin cleared his throat, "Very well, if you're done, I have news: Geras has commissioned Verria to assassinate Davrag and Arredon. She'll be getting to it in very short order."

Kallia looked to Kirathal and Tethik calmly, her tail twitching lightly and brown eyes calm. "Do we interfere?"

"Why should we?" Tethik adjusted the bandanna that hid his mutilated eyes. "They have nothing to do with us."

Harkon leans back in his seat and cleared his throat, "Unless you see the two of them as new additions to our troupe, Lord Kirathal."

Tethik turned to Kirathal in surprise, "You actually considering that? Some washed up killer and that…that stupid little brat joining the Ice Wolves? Kirathal, they're not even foxes!"

"Don't think the thought hadn't occurred to me," Kirath admitted calmly, "But no. Davrag is a leader, not a follower and Arredon would never consider it without his beloved master. We have our own plans anyways. Sithrin, Curian, how go Geras's…negotiations with that corsair wildcat?" Wisely, Kirath decided not to address the certain racial comment by Tethik. Appearing to agree with the blind fox would pacify him for the moment.

Curian leaned back calmly, the slightly golden fox's eyes rolling in boredom, "The corsair demanded the usual…" He replied as he calmly inspected a short sword that he wore on his back, examining it thoroughly.

Sithrin took over, sensing Curian's boredom, "Nidas is having issues with a fox who has managed to turn some beasts into a rather…formidable force and the other Corsair Lords are very pleased to look the other way. Nidas says this fox has promised them his territory to divide amongst themselves when he is dead. Nidas asked Geras for his best- your group- in return for the lending of his ships, which will be vital later on. The name of this rebellion leader is Mordath de-Droka."

Not a single Ice Wolf didn't look utterly shocked with the exception of Curian, who already knew; Kirath's rare moment of shock vanished almost instantly and he composed himself, "The son of the late Hadras de-Droka, hm?"

"Perhaps," Sithrin nodded lightly, "Nobeast could have imagined the survival of the de-Droka line here and now."

Kirath smirked darkly, "Then perhaps we'll extend our chaos to the Southern Isles as well…Kallia, I'll want you by my side for the next few days, by the by. I'll need a good guard." Kallia knew Kirath was just flattering her but didn't care.

Kirath looked to the others. "It's come to this. All of you have your reasons for following me today: One of our absent members follows me for the bloodshed the war will bring, some of you look up to me and owe me and one of you wants to kill me. Whatever your reasons," Kirathal's sapphire eyes blazed with fanatical light and his fangs bared in a savage grin, "Let's create HELL!"

----

Davrag and Arredon had their food served late as they always did, Davrag scarcely eating these days.

"What's wrong, Lord Davrag?" Arredon replied, sitting back, eyeing him curiously and innocently.

"I don't know," The ebon-furred stoat muttered lightly as he stabbed a bit of fish with his fork, not bringing it to his mouth.

"I'm not going to eat until you do, you know," Arredon replied with the childish admiration that was so…unusual for such a trained and deadly killer.

Davrag rolled his eyes and raised the fish to his mouth, closing his jaws over it and chewing methodically, a twitch in his right eye alerting Arredon that something was VERY wrong.

Arredon frowned and cocked his head in a question matter and Davrag swallowed slowly, growling, "I'm…just not sure what to do anymore…"

In a quieter voice he added, "The food's been poisoned."

Before Arredon could shout out, he hissed in the soft quiet voice. "Be quiet, it won't affect me! Gadric Kurion taught me to build up a resistance to this specific type when I was...recruiting Verria," His eyes narrowed, "I've never let her on that I knew…just in case of something like this."

Arredon's boyish face changed. His almond shaped green eyes hardened and his jaw set, traces of youth and naiveté fading in an instant. He grabbed his swords and drew them swiftly. "Was it meant to kill us?"

Davrag shook his head. "Paralyzing poison…even I'm feeling drowsy and I've built up a tolerance to it." His voice was oddly hollow, "She'll be along soon…with guards…to finish the job on us for Geras. I was so stupid…I should've predicted this…"

Arredon's eyes twitched as he heard the sound of footfalls, then whispers:

"Are you certain?"

"They're done eating for sure by now…even a forkful would be enough to render them incapable of moving their muscles," Verria's voice was gloating, "Even if they hear me, they can't do anything about it. Not a beast will come out tonight and we have all the time to ourselves."

Traitor. Traitor, traitor, traitor, TRAITOR!!!!! Davrag's first instinct screamed, follow by the second thought: Let them come, weakling…

"Arredon…you should get yourself out of here…" His voice was broken and hollow as he heard the beasts draw closer to the door. "Let them come for me…"

"What?!" Arredon hissed, shock written in his features. Davrag's eyes closed.

"All my life I've lived believing the strong are the best…but I was beaten…I told myself I could pick up a sword again, but I don't have a right to now…I…I'm…we-"

Arredon dropped one sword and punched him. Hard. Davrag's mouth opened in shocked surprise and a paw clapped to his cheek. Arredon's eyes blazed, "You're not Davrag…Lord Davrag would never speak that way…You're a shell…Lord Davrag would never abandon me…" He whispered harshly as the soft footsteps drew closer.

"Arredon, don't-"He began, pleading.

"I looked up to you…" He whispered, a strange emotion appearing in his beautiful eyes, "I believed in you. I don't care what he looks like." A soft smile spread over his face, "He was the only beast every to show me kindness, who wanted me instead of rejecting him. Lord Davrag is the most beautiful beast in the world to me…I'd believe all his lies if he could pretend for a moment that he loved me.

Arredon whirled as the door opened, grabbing his sword and meeting the attackers with a cry.

There were too many for him, he knew that, but he fought with speed and grace, keeping them from his master. At the back, Verria watched, obviously thinking Davrag paralyzed and that his junior partner would be overwhelmed. Eight killers in all, they had retreated when they saw the young stoat and now fought him in the hall. Arredon danced skillfully, moving back through the doorway when he could, but it was clear against those odds he could not last.

_If he'd pretend he'd love me…_

_The young stoat looked up to the dark features and cold amber eyes of his rescuer and the black stoat sneered, "So, you're coming with me? From this day on, you're my tool, remember that, boy!"_

_Most beautiful in the world to me…_

_Always believed in you._

Arredon thrust his swords into the stomach of a weasel, ending the life of his enemy swiftly. A sword caught him in the shoulder before he could recover and he cried out in shock. A fist hurled him to the ground and the enemies advanced to finish the job.

_Fight…there's nothing wrong with it…not if you have something to protect…_

_Most beautiful in the world…_

_Pretend he'd love me…_

_To fight him again, Eroket…don't you want to fight him again?_

_The young stoat smiled, "I understand, my Lord…I am your tool, your weapon. Use me however you wish…"_

_Your tool…_

_Use me…_

_Believe all your lies…_

_Just pretend…_

_Just pretend you love me…_

"ARREDOOOOOON!!!!!!!!" The roar ripped from his throat, giving pause to the killers and surely made the beasts hiding in their rooms tremble. He didn't remember grabbing his swords, but they were in his paws and he was up. How EASY it came back to him, the moves, the speed!

"I am Davrag Joris! And I shall NEVER LOSE TO YOU BASTARDS!!!!!!" He was among them in an ebon blur, spinning, swords slicing through the air.

The dance of death had begun anew.

Blood sprayed through the air, staining his fur and blades. He cut them down one by one, the incredible speed making it impossible for one to even touch him.

He was laughing as he cut them down, his amber eyes turning to Verria with the unmistakable bloodlust and cruelty the Davrag Joris had possessed before his handsome face had been ruined…but this face was the face Verria imagined would be attached to Vulpuz.

"I warned you…I suppose you're wondering…" The voice was emotionless and he stepped forward. Arredon calmly seized his swords and moved to his feet, two pairs of eyes locking on the traitorous weasel.

"Oh, you're lucky I don't believe in rape," Davrag replied icily, "But for the record, I built up immunities to ALL your native poisons before I went to do business there for Crimson Tears. I smelled that paralyzing little toxin the moment I lifted it to my face…well, Arredon, your thoughts?"

Verria was backing away slowly, face a mask of fear, "D-davrag, Davrag, please…"

"Treachery does not deserve mercy," The young stoat answered, his voice ice. "That is what my Lord Davrag has taught me..."

Davrag smiled lightly, "Arredon…how do I look?"

As Verria stared, horrified, Arredon smiled. "Beautiful…"

"More…"

"Flawless!"

"More!"

"No gem in this world can compare to how beautiful and radiant you are to me, my lord!"

"As long as you think so! Those words have no meaning if they don't come from you, my Arredon…but now, we have important matters to attend to. Arredon, what shall we do with her?"

Verria's gaze begged mercy, but Arredon allowed her none. "Behold, Vulpuz, I give thee the traitor, the hypocrite and the fool for thy judgment. The proud shall die…"

Davrag smiled and shrugged lightly, "I'm not the beast I was, Verria, but I'm still Davrag Joris. This face is a…handicap, but it doesn't hinder me entirely. After all, no matter what a real beast looks like, he'll always find what he desires…too bad, you won't live to see it." He flicked his head lightly.

Verria turned to run as Arredon took off after her, blades moving in a quick blur to slice the back of her knees. She yelped in surprise and pain and whirled, a dagger striking out in a pitiful final attempt.

Arredon's swords carved over her throat. She couldn't even scream as she choked on her blood, falling back. Suddenly, the words came back to her: 'There's nothing worse than dying alone.'

As the darkness devoured her, she allowed herself to admit that maybe, just maybe, Davrag Joris had been right.

---

Davrag smirked lightly and kicked her body. "She deserved it…"

"Geras can no loner be trusted, Lord Davrag," Arredon observed calmly, cleaning his swords, "Oh, you may want to take a bath or something…"

Davrag smiled at him fondly, "I will, I will…you take care of the bodies?"

"It's done…what about Miss Verria's?"

Davrag's eyes glinted. "A present for Geras…make it good…"

"Of course. He won't dare try again once he's failed like this. It may be best to make ourselves scarce though. He'll lose face and won't risk another botched attempt or it'll look bad for him…and sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Glad to have you back…"

Davrag smiled lightly and shook her head, "I don't think I could've done this if not for you…and Verria deserved to die for betraying me and all this…never again will we be Five…but now, there's one thing I want…" His eyes turned distant. "Let us fight one last time, Eroket Nightblade…I'm waiting for you."

----

Geras Iridanis was livid to hear the assassination attempt had failed but controlled it well, although he positively wanted to draw his sword and cut a blood path until he found satisfaction.

He'd lost eight valued soldiers and Verria in the bargain, perfect, he thought angrily. Thankfully, few knew of the attempt and none would betray him. He couldn't risk another assassination attempt for a while after this, however much he desired to destroy the bastard who has practically crushed his arm.

It was in the afternoon when Kirathal brought his attention to something Sithrin had stumbled across.

Geras let his gaze travel to whatever it was in a bored, but then recoiled, more out of shock than horror as Kirathal set it down.

Verria's head was on a silver dinner tray, arranged with a good cut of fish. Pinned to the forehead with a dagger was a note, written in blood, reading:

Make a wish.


	8. Before the tempest

Mordath was smiling.  
The crimson fox was standing on deck, crimson cloak of command fluttering in the evening breeze, fierce grin highlighted by the dying flame of twilight and the flames of dying ships.

"That was brilliant, General!" A weasel patted him on the shoulder in a comradely manner and Mordath's grin widened.

"Don't get cocky," he replied in a cautionary tone that did not match his victorious countenance, dual-toned eyes glittering in triumph and pride.

"Not a single beast dead, I think we have a right to call this a victory," Mahk replied, folding his paws over his thin chest, cobalt eyes matching with the sea's azure flow.

"Not one of ours," Mordath reminded his general calmly, victory smile fading as he thought of the beasts who joined and fought for his cause, beasts who now lay dead beneath the sea, good beasts all, beasts who wished to see the Wave Lord's dominion over the sea end.

The Death Watch, all forty five of them, was in high spirits now that they were no longer alone in the conflict against Dukat Nidas. His taking of an island stronghold and one of Nidas's most prized ships had reached the ears of many beasts who were not satisfied with the rule of the Wave Lord and more and more allies seemed to join Mordath's 'rebellion' that may soon have become a revolution. What once seemed a hopeless wish of ending the life of the corsair lord who had dominated the seas of the Southern Isles for many years now seemed to be binding itself together into a true reality.

Other Corsair Lords were willing to aid the red fox, Sekh Sobekiaz and his people grew in the number, adding more monitor elites to the resistance movements and military forces of overthrown kingdoms came under his banner.

The Death Watch's General had achieved a level of 'hero' and 'symbol of hope' that he had never dreamed possible.

Mordath de-Droka removed his cloak and nodded to one of his Death Watch aids. "Bring us back to port and give the beasts the night off." He didn't feel the need to add necessary procedures. His Death Watch, veteran warriors, would catch the unspoken command. No longer were there any of the scum of the earth, no murderers and no random vagabonds that Visla and Geras had accepted into the ranks. They were more than that, they were pure, and they were warriors and fighters with honor.

But no matter how high he climbed, Mordath could never achieve his fondest desires in the South. Nothing would bring Sariss back to him.

"Let's hear it for the General!" Cheers arose from the throats of his beasts, bringing a smile of pride to his face. He whirled to face them suddenly and the cheering ended, the Death Watch beasts afraid they might have offended their General.

Instead, Mordath lifted a fist into the air, raising his voice greatly so that other beasts not of his Death Watch would hear him and pass on what he said. He had the fates of many in his paws and by Vulpuz, he'd be damned if he'd treated their lives as anything less than the gifts they were.

Mordath's cry carried confidence, his mouth turned in a knowing smirk, knowing every move may bolster his comrades' morale. "Where once we would have been driven underfoot, this revolution is taking its hold. Soon, Dukat Nidas who dares to term himself Lord of these waves will fall victim to our might. All those who fight with me, I vow I will see these waters stained raed with his blood!"

Turning to a throng of cheering beasts, Mordath strode inside his cabin with his thoughts, kicking off his boots and tossing his cloak on a chair, sitting back behind his desk and removing a bottle of brandy from a drawer.

The fiery liquor left a trail of warmth in his stomach and brought some satisfaction to his mind. He replaced the bottle after one or two mouthfuls. Intoxication was a poor idea if he hoped to remain the figurehead he was.

Mahk walked in a moment later, a small smile on the thin stoat's face. "Taren."

Mordath nodded in greeting and leaned back, placing his footpaws on the desk. "How are you? What's on your mind?"

"Fine and you."

Mordath nodded, removing his legs and leaning forward. He knew his best friend well enough to know when Mahk had important subjects to bring up. "Yeah?"  
"You've changed…a lot. I don't mean just in position, but inside…" Mahk bit his lip lightly, "A long time ago, when I was real young, I left the city of my birth with my older brother and was a spectator in a war for a long time…I served under General Kalis Deiran and I served under Visla. I served many beasts as a mercenary does."

Mordath nodded, knowing Mahk had some point to make, "Go on…"

"You have a power, Taren…" Mahk's voice was soft and his manner composed.

"I have nothing but a strong arm, Mahk," Mordath shook his head in denial, "You all-"

"We follow you! You took a beaten, bedraggled force that had lost its soul and you gave them honor, you gave them reasons to live. You turned an accident into a full fledged rebellion," Mahk smiled at him, "Haven't you seen it? Everybeast, monitor to mouse to Death Watcher…we'd die for you, Taren. You have a fire, a spark of a leader within you. That is power."

Mordath was silent for a long time before he sat back, folding his paws. "Do you remember when the Death Watch found me, Mahk? I was a thief…an urchin. I never dreamed of being a leader, just of being a good soldier and fighting what was needed…but yeah, I've noticed what's happened. Neither at my wish, nor intention I've achieved this greatness. But nothing, no matter how many follow me or how many whose lives I end…none of it grants me what I want.

"My father was a very evil creature. He murdered my mother and he had my sister killed. I killed my father when I was young, I've told you this. After my father died and I left my family behind, the Death Watch gave me a purpose and a reason to live. Sariss gave me that purpose…I failed, Mahk…I failed to protect her…" His fists tightened and his eyes closed in a rare show of emotion, "The cliché tragedy; the hero can't protect the maiden, but then I'm no hero and she was no maiden, hm? Like the legend of Martin and Laterose, I've lost what was most important to me. All that matters to me now is finding a place for my soldiers. All that keeps my alive is the Death Watch. The original Mordath was a warlord who founded our line, but after his son was born, the woman he loved was murdered in a violent uprising in the first Northlands War. Mordath lost his will to live and, entrusting his will to his son, he left his kingdom that he had carved with his blade and set to become a wanderer. He never imagined his beloved could have forgiven him for allowing her to die and he lost his life in a war. I took his name to honor my family line that I love just as surely as I despise how rotten it became and I took it because he and I were not so different."

Mahk sat back calmly taking what his leader said in before he gave a light sigh, "Taren…Sariss would never hold you responsible for what happened. You were soldiers and those she fought were also soldiers. You could not hate her anymore if it were you who died…"  
"That's another thing," Mordath whispered, fists balling lightly, "Eroket Nightblade's face haunts me…by letting me live, he's cursed me more than you could imagine. Perhaps I've been taunting death with these stunts until it claims me, but that night, I'd have wanted to die by her side than live…but now, I see that wasn't an option. No matter how much it pains me; there must always be Taren de-Droka, a Mordath to lead and to inspire. My life is for you all who I hold close to my heart. We will leave the south but not before I have finished what I start."

Mahk was quiet listening throughout it, but now he spoke and his raspy voice rang as the clearest knell in Mordath de-Droka's mind. "Our lives for yours, my General."  
A nudge of a crimson paw pushed a mug full of steaming, bitter herbal brew to the infirmed stoat. "Honored and received, my soldiers…my family."  
----  
Curian utterly despised traveling with Jirik. The sword collector considered himself a seasoned veteran, an Ice Wolf warrior whose blood remained hot even in the face of the deadliest threat.

Jirik Valrik was one of the few who could make his blood run cold.  
They had traveled nonstop for days, sleeping little and eating less. The quintet of warriors headed south, looking for any information on Eroket Nightblade and Jald Nightson.  
Kardran the otter had kept to the back, conversing only with Harkon and keeping largely to himself. However, stealth and tact were not in Hallic Thargo's limited vocabulary and the savage strutted, threw his weight and growled the entire way, stretching Curian's patience. However, Kirathal's orders were strict: no fighting amongst one another and so Curian, a loyal and devoted follower, obeyed.  
But it was Jirik who was the one who made Curian feel fear. Barely speaking, barely seeming to breathe, even, Jirik walked with even pace with the rest of the group. But whenever his eyes met Curian's, the golden fox shivered.

Those eyes were the color of freshly spilt blood and bespoke malice and terror and cruelty; his mind a terrifying product of madness and war with only the desire to hurt, to kill. It was death was lay beyond those eyes, death in its cruelest form and that terrified any who could match eyes with Jirik Valrik. Curian privately wondered if Jirik was a twisted nightmare of Vulpuz given form on the world…

The sword collector wore a dirk at his waist and two light blades on his back, along with a curved blade at his hip and-having been well trained during the Unification Wars- was well versed in the art of combat and swordplay with a variety of blades. Currently, Curian was walking alongside Hallic at the moment, shutting his mind out to the juggernaut's panting snarls. Hallic wore his armor easily and carried his trident and weighted net even easier. His conversation pieces-how he'd messily rend his foes and how he was better than Davrag-had long since grown stale to Curian.

The golden fox slowed his stride just enough to be walking alongside Harkon. Harkon was one of his favorite Ice Wolves; proud, taciturn and skilled. Harkon's fur a lush red and his eyes deep brown. He dressed modestly, with no time for personal fripperies and carried a dirk as his weapon; Harkon's fists were his true weapons.  
"How is Jirik?" Harkon's lips barely moved as he posed the question.  
Curian answered quietly. "He's at the rear now, just behind the otter. He's getting restless…"  
"I know. The combined strength of the four of us should be enough to bring him down if he forgets himself, Curian."

"I thought you'd be loving to kill a beast like Jirik," Curian muttered lightly, biting his lip.  
"I would," Harkon replied tonelessly, "But he has his uses and Lord Kirathal commanded us not to fight amongst ourselves. That will stay my paw for the time being. How about the otter and the weasel; how are they doing?"  
"The weasel's a moron," Curian replied with a light chuckle. "The otter's a bright guy, head of that private army. Far as I can figger, he'll stay loyal for now considering how outnumbered he's gotta feel."

Harkon nodded lightly and he and Curian traded meaningful glances. With such company, it was difficult for the two foxes not to feel a sense of solidarity.

And at the back, Jirik Valrik's crimson eyes raised from beneath the black hood of his cloak to look at the heavy gray skies, a smirk forming on his expressionless features. The other Ice Wolves were good, yes, but against a beast like Jald Nightson, their skills paled. Only Jirik could possibly match the Manticore in battle, with the exception of his Lord Kirathal. That was fine; Jirik loved challenges.

"This rain is not enough to sate me…" The crimson eyes narrowed and the ebon body shuddered in what one might take for a physical pleasure, "Soon Jirik will make it rain blood…"


	9. Power Play

A/N: There are spoilers for Like Shattered Glass in this story.

The sea breeze felt cool and soothing against Davrag's ruined features. Driven by the night air, the briny scent and moisture-tinged breeze was a great comfort, a reminder of happier and better times before he had accepted that damned hunt with Jald Nightson.

No, that was not accurate at all. Davrag had known better times but happy times? No, he had never truly been happy, he knew with a trace of bitter irony represented in a twisting of slashed lips.

Happiness meant loved one, trusted friends, a family one could go home to, a wife whose arms one could seek comfort in. No, a relentless pursuit of the title of 'The Best,' driven by ambition, greed and selfishness to fight and murder others by any means at his disposal; that way of living was a way of denying his own mortality and weakness of the spirit. How could he have lived that way for so long…how?

But now, it was too late to change. Davrag Joris's blades had claimed many lives: the strong, the weak, the old and the sick, the young…anybeast who stood in his way for even a fraction of a second for his title. He would never die like his parents had, for if you cannot save yourself, you are weak. That was the Juska law his mother had instilled within him. He would be strong.

At Kolma, he had hoped to gain at title and in that relentless pursuit, he had been defeated. It tore at him still, the crimson pawed ermine with eyes of amber. Eroket Nightblade had bested him. It was a bitter truth, but the facts were the facts.

In defeat, the relentless thirst to drink from the chalice of victory was not gone, but it was diminished. He no longer wanted that title so much as he NEEDED a final battle with that young ermine.

Why? He could ask himself a dozen times but find no answer, no respite. Davrag, for all his evils and cruelties was first and foremost a warrior as was Eroket and warriors could only express themselves, find respite in the clash of steel, the heat of battle. In a final battle with the ermine, Davrag could discover what he had been living for, if he was wrong or right his entire life. More than anything else in the world, Davrag wanted to bring his curved blades against Eroket's schianova and decide once and for all if his once central sense of justice was right or wrong. In that battle and no other would Davrag Joris find the answer he so desperately sought.

With a light sigh, the black stoat leaned back, turning his head to stare out the window, to the gentle flow of the sea and the argent reflection of the celestial, lunar form that hung full in the skies.

Perhaps he was getting a bit poetic, he thought with a light chuckle. He let a paw drift to the stoat who lay in the bed-he had voluntarily relinquished it for the night. The paw ran across Arredon's cheek with surprising tenderness. The young stoat's beautiful green eyes were closed and his face had taken on a placidity that could be reflected by the ebony sea, a peace that could only be achieved by such violent warriors in the state of sleep. It was a peace that none of them could know in life and few could know in death.

Yet, Arredon could still know that peace…the niggling voice at the back of his mind whispered. He is young; he has remained in this world, this hell for you and you alone. He loves you like his own father…

Davrag didn't deserve it.

A look of brief sadness flitted over the black stoat's face and he withdrew his paw lest he clench the young stoat's shoulder and awaken him. "Oh, Arredon," He whispered, "You're such a kind child…you shouldn't have ever picked up a sword…you should never have become like me." A fang bit into a lower lip, "I saw my parents die…my mother, she met my father when he ventured to the southern coast. She was Juska, a warrior of a clan. They returned together to Calishan, where I was born. They taught me not only to fight, but philosophies of the clan; the clan that was destroyed by badgers. I vowed to myself when they died that I would never suffer their fate, that I would be strong and never be defeated." His eyes closed and his voice came as a whisper, "But I made myself as vile as any vermin in order to achieve this…and then I met you…you were so young when I found you, so innocent…I was your savior, to you I was something that was like a hero. But...I never deserved that. I never deserved your affection…" His teeth greet tightly and the amber eyes glistened with odd moisture. It was the salt from the sea stinging his eyes. It had to be.

"I instilled in you my ideals, but you never embraced them, you never lost your heart. So many times you have shown mercy, so many times you have helped others…you only kill for me." A look of pain appeared on the stoat's ravaged features and he replied, "This was never the life for you, but I made it such…but you were never my tool, never a weapon...Arredon Toroth…you have been my only friend, my only solace now. Forgive me…no matter the outcome, if I live or die…I want you to live and escape what I could not. Though you may never hear these words, I hope that a merciful fate allows you a chance: don't become like me, it's too far below you. When I am burning in Hellgates, I want you to Dark Forest." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "Become your own creature and not mine. That is all I want."

"How touching." A voice replied coldly and Davrag's gaze drew instantly to the doorway and the amber eyes narrowed. Though he had never before seen this beast, he knew him instantly: Kirathal Frostclaw.

"I heard only the last few bits there, but still: touching." The arctic fox's arms were folded over his chest, sapphire eyes studying the former killer. "I never knew how far one of us could fall, Davrag Joris."

"You here to insult me or kill me, Kirathal Frostclaw?" Davrag's voice instantly regained its cold edge.

Kirathal Frostclaw looked to Arredon's sleeping form and back to Davrag. "Meet me in the hall way, I'm here to talk to you."

Davrag rose, donning his black cloak and followed the fox into the hall. "So, you're the famous Kirathal Frostclaw, the one they call as 'The Demon of the North.' Rumors say you were trained with Jald Nightson and Aleran Nightblade…other rumors say you're dead.

"Close," Kirathal acquiesced with a light smirk and a gleam in his eyes. "And I've never really liked that title. You, on the other paw are Davrag Joris, of no title now worth mentioning. You took the job, you failed the job and your defeat is plain."

Davrag took the comment in stride, nodding calmly once, taking scant notice of how strange it was that he did not grow enraged to the insult. But there was no venom in Kirathal's statement, he merely spoke the truth. "I was bested by Eroket Nightblade, who it is said you have bested. These are the facts. However, Eroket Nightblade is not dead, I have heard, contrary to what others may believe: This is also a fact."

Kirathal laughed lightly, "Very, very good, Joris. You're correct."

"You want to fight him. Just as I do."

"Correct," Kirathal nodded again, "You are an accurate beast, so I suppose I'll save you the effort of another question: it is in my nature to want more and more challenges and fights, just as it is in yours. I have no desire to hold the title of 'The best,' but if it comes with being able to crush my foes, I'll wear it proudly. With this young ermine, I saw potential, as I'm sure you did at one point. I want to fight Eroket Nightblade at his best, I want him to improve."

"Strange that you send your elite fighters after him."

"Well, if he can't beat them, then there's no point in fighting him myself." Kirathal smiled again lightly and shrugged, "It's your philosophy, eh? Strong, live, weak, die. I have nothing to worry about, because I am strong. Now, if Eroket is strong, he'll earn the right to fight me. If he is weak, he'll die and I'll live with my disappointment and seek out the next challenge."

Davrag smirked lightly, folding his arms and leans back against the wall. "And what's your goal? Why work for scum like Geras Iridanis?"

"Well, he's a means to an end. As you are aware of, Geras has been steadily increasing his territory and it has come to conflict with other syndicates and groups."  
"I know," Davrag waved a paw, "I helped him take quite a few bits of the Nameless Clan's territory."

Kirathal nodded. "Geras wants nothing less than to-"

"Be head of all crime and vice in this entire region," Davrag smirked lightly and nodded. Kirathal chuckled lightly.

"You're a sharp one indeed, Joris. I find myself liking you, despite the 'failure' aspect of your character. So, here's my little plan: When crime rules this place, beasts' trust in governments deteriorates, wars are inevitable…combine that with other aspects of our plans and," Kirathal smiled charmingly, but the light in his eyes burned bright, "Anarchy. Perpetual unending war. Nobeast will know who struck the first blow and it will continue."

Davrag's gasp was barely audible and he shook his head. "You are insane."

"War can do that to the mind. I thought you would understand. What is the chief rule of our code, Davrag Joris? What is the number one assassin and soldier rule?"

It came from his mind and tongue easily and he replies softly, reciting perfectly: "We kill, but we do not choose our targets."

"Ah, but you have broken this rule…why should we be forced to adhere to an archaic code that cripples us? I have seen soldiers, seen their land, their homes, their very dignity sold to the highest bidder. Peace is an illusion, peace is a place where we throw down our weapons and hope our enemies don't slit our poor unguarded throats. Well, beasts like you and I make peace, so beasts like you and I have the right to decide the fate of this world as we have done before, but of our own will. I want this world to be one of anarchy and chaos where we are never useless, where we are held in honor. Davrag Joris, I'll ask you once: Will you become a soldier of this chaos and help to aid our goals? You may have the title of Strongest in this chaos…we can even say you won it." Kirathal Frostclaw's mouth turned up into another smirk, "I want you, despite your defeat…"

The title of the Strongest, his fondest desire…being offered by the beast who may very well have been the strongest. His once fondest dream was in front of his face: A year ago, he'd have taken it instantly…but now…

"I decline." His voice was mechanical and toneless."

Kirathal's eyes searched his own, as if asking him to explain. Explain Davrag did: "I want one thing. This is the one thing I will aid you in: Eroket Nightblade. One final fight with him is my desire. Use me as another measuring stick."

"A loser like you?" Kirathal's voice was scornful. "The failure asks to fight his better?"

Davrag nodded again lightly. "Allow this loser the chance and he shall aid your cause. I want one last fight with him on equal terms."

"So," Kirathal's voice was mocking, "Throw everything away just for a good fight?"  
"No. But, think of this: Are you afraid to let him fight me? If you want to see him better, see him cut through a miserable failure with no hesitation…"

This caught Kirathal off guard and he clearly considered it. A small grin crossed his lips. "What you say…may have merit. Well, we'll have to see, hm?"

Davrag walked back into his room. Kirathal Frostclaw was a dangerous creature, he had discovered. Davrag had not manipulated the fox, he suddenly realized: Kirath had played upon his desire.

Davrag didn't know how he was going to ever come out of this alive…

----

Mossflower hadn't changed much, Jald Nightson noted. The afternoon sun streamed through the trees, soaking into the grass. He couldn't help but notice that the emerald, light-soaked vegetation was the same shade as his own eyes.

The ermine and the ferret had moved practically nonstop to Mossflower wood for a very particular reason: Their employers had to hear about their failure.

There was no danger in reporting it, not to their lives and especially not with the danger involved to all beasts in the underworld at the moment: the danger that was brought about by Geras Iridanis's very existence.

Eroket was humming an old travel song, carrying a supply pack with little trouble-they had plenty still, thankfully. Jald was silent, taking only the time to hack a stray branch out of his path.

"We're getting close…" The ferret muttered to himself, eyes narrowing against the glare of the sun.

"Mossflower wood," Eroket muttered lightly, looking to Jald. "It's not as lifelike as I thought…"

"We're far north in it. Redwall Abbey's down south and the beasts who live here are down that way too…besides, with the presences here, we've got the whole stretch to ourselves…"

Ero shrugged lightly. The two had been walking for days nonstop, their plan first to find their employers in the meeting place and then head North to Meridian where they could seek refuge in the Academy, now run by High Master Morik Ferin and Boneflower Windlass-Jald had noticed that Eroket had taken the latter news with little emotion. The slight pain has passed by now: Eroket and Boneflower were still friends and that was how Eroket had almost always thought of her. Their final companion, Cadion, had returned to his village with the sweet knowledge of Davrag Joris's death.

Jald tapped his sword against his shoulder calmly and looked around, frowning. "We're getting close to the glade."

Eroket sighed. "Couldn't they just have made this more convenient?"

"They're the only ones keeping the group alive at the moment. Crimson Tears took most of the rest…Kirathal'll follow us here, too and it's best we face him on our own terms."

"Point seen," Eroket nodded, gripping his sword tightly. On the few occasions they stopped walking Eroket had trained relentlessly, pushing his body more and more. Jald was privately very impressed by Eroket's progress and determination.

The ermine and the ferret's walking continued for hours more before a slight movement in the trees alerted Eroket.

"Jald…" He flicked his head up lightly, metallic rasp of a drawn schianova audible.

"Stay your blade, mercenary!" An authoritative voice called suddenly. A squirrel was standing on a branch with a bow drawn, dressed in camouflage. Eroket sheathed his sword calmly and raised his paw up.

"We're here to report in…"

The squirrel removed a small whistle from around his neck and gave three quick notes. In about five more minutes, the place was swarming with at least ten beasts of various species, but they all wore the same colors and uniforms.

"Eroket Nightblade and Jald Nightson," The leader, a tall fox replied calmly. The two mercenaries nodded calmly.

Jald replied evenly, "The mission in Calishan was a failure…the heads will want to know of this."

There was a bout of murmuring among the other beasts and the fox frowned lightly. "There are innocents living to the south of here and we cannot afford any danger now. We'll take you to the hideout and you can tell your story there, mercenaries.

"Good," Jald replied with a light nod, sheathing his own sword. "We need more supplies and-"

"We have those and bedding for you," The fox replied calmly. "They aren't the best in the world, but I think you can make do. The heads have been in hiding now that we can't make a strike at Iridanis. He won't leave Calishan again." The fox frowned, "I don't think we can get another chance, Jald…"

Jald shook his head calmly, "We'll get another. Right now, we have information your leaders have to hear."

The fox nodded and made a few signals to his beasts. They fell in calmly as a single procession, moving south, deeper into Mossflower Wood.

The hideout of Eroket and Jald's employers was a large oak tree that had been hollowed out and settled in the case of any emergencies, such as this point in time.

Eroket's brow furrowed lightly and his lips pursed. He knew this entire area was under the control of what was once the most powerful crime syndicate in Mossflower: The Nameless Clan.

The place had been saved for just such an emergency before the previous head had come to power. In normal times, it would never have been necessary, but these were far from normal times.

Geras Iridanis had made his first play against the Nameless Clan's fringe territories and has successfully acquired them. The Nameless Clan had been crippled recently by the death of its new leader and key officers had been assassinated quickly. The surviving officers had gone into hiding, doing all they could against the expanding might of Crimson Tears, but with the assassination of their leader and the occupation of a friendly garrison thanks to the Juskadin tribes, the once mighty clan was shorthanded at the moment.

Their interests and Jald and Eroket's had intersected. When Geras was vulnerable, Eroket and Jald had gone to assassinate him and leave Crimson Tears leaderless so that the Nameless Clan could capitalize on the situation. Little did they know, Geras Iridanis had been far from vulnerable.

Eroket sighed lightly as he and Jald entered the tree, trying to act calm. The thing was rather large, with one main room: a large table with three seats, all seats occupied.

Khorda Renos, a rat warrior had been a valued fighter of the Clan, one of the leaders of the personal guard of the head. Merrith Falis the ferret had been a close advisor to the late Tulley and the late and unlamented Odhran, the leader before Tulley. The last of the collective was a fox known as Edrin Namas who had handled many affairs in Mossflower and beyond.

In normal times, they may have fought over the leadership position, but now self preservation was first and foremost and only by working together did they have a chance of standing against Crimson Tears and Geras Iridanis's ambitions.

"Geras Iridanis lives," Jald Nightson replies, remaining standing and facing the three heads calmly.

"We know…" Edrin Namas replies with a light sigh, the fox leaning back calmly, "And we live still, thankfully, though only to the kindness of the woodlanders in the area. It took a while with that nasty business down south to assure them out intentions were far from ignoble."

"Down south?" Eroket queried, a frown forming on his face. "Last we heard, Deltrada Garrison was gearing up for war against the Juska."

"We know…helping them was one of the worst decisions we ever made," Khorda Reno replied. The rat was not given to excess worrying, but rather delivered the honest truth and took thing as they came. "Their Taggerung Hardin had Tulley murdered by the accursed Lunegast…Deltrada was wiped out to the last badger. General Wade was murdered in a little bout of treachery during negotiations."

Jald and Eroket's mouths dropped open, both unable to contain their surprise. Such short time it seemed had past and so much had happened…

"The child army?" Eroket gritted his teeth lightly. Truth be told, the ermine mercenary would have been just as happy murdering General Wade Stormsail as he would have been murdering Geras Iridanis.

"Freed…to all our relief," Khorda continued calmly, leaning back in his seat. "More things happened: You two are out of a job for one."

Two blank looks later, Falis took over the conversation; "Eclipse has been destroyed. Carno was killed by the Taggerung for killing the Taggerung's second in command."

Jald shook his head, replying with icy deliberation, "I'm just glad Carno's dead, even if we didn't get to finish him…and the Juskadin? Is Redwall rubble by now? Is Hardin planning to mobilize against other areas?"

"Hardin Zann Taggerung is dead as well. He was bested by Redwall's warrior who is also dead: poisoned by a last move from Hardin Taggerung. But enough on this…to the point: we heard you have something important to tell us after the failure?"

Eroket was the one who spoke up, slowly and deliberately he replied, "The Ice Wolves have joined with Geras Iridanis. It was thanks to their presence that our attack failed."

There was silence and then Edrin replied, "It seems this has gotten more dangerous…"

"They caught us by surprise and escaped," Eroket replied quickly. "We removed ourselves from the confusion in order to report in and reevaluate the situation."

Edrin nodded slowly and replied, "The spy within Crimson Tears the Iridian otters planted has reported that Geras Iridanis is dealing with Dukat Nidas the Wavelord now…Nidas is apparently going to aid him in this takeover. We have made bargains with the Iridians and we have a mutual understanding at the moment, but if Nidas brings his fleet here, then there will be no more Nameless Clan, there will be no more Iridians and there will be nothing but Crimson Tears. You two may very well be the last hope we have left. I ask you this: Can you defeat the Ice wolves and kill Geras Iridanis?"

Eroket and Jald exchanged looks, neither needing to voice their concerns. There was much to consider: To even consider stopping Geras may have been madness, but both had been through too much in the Death Watch war, both had seen too many crimes brought about by Crimson Tears to stop now. Eroket had once found it impossible to hate the Iridian otters: They had been tricked by the Death Watch just as the Calpathions had. He didn't particularly like them, but he wouldn't go out of his way to kill one. Once the two Calpathions, Jald Nightson the Manticore and Eroket Nightblade, Kalis Deiran's Legacy, have been rivals, even enemies, but now? Between Eroket Nightblade and Jald Nightson there was understanding, friendship and brotherhood. Both saw the answer in one another's eyes and they made their decision as one.

"We'll be your trump card." Eroket Nightblade replied for both of them.

Nobeast in the room could have known of the quintet drawing steadily closer from the northwest…nor could they have known that the events of the next day would change this power play completely.


	10. More blood for the bloodstained

The beds the Nameless Clan supplied were rough but to Eroket and Jald, who had spent the last few days sleeping on the grass, on the stones and even in the mud when they had to, the finest inn in Gair, nay, the most comfortable room in a Northern Lord's palace could not compare to the comfort they found at the moment.

Eroket grinned widely, tossing down his sword and leaping back on the bed, bouncing lightly before he began to laugh. "This is great, Jald!"  
Jald allowed himself a snort of amusement and shook his head, grinning lightly himself. "If you break that rough thing, our employers may be a little upset…"

Eroket smirked lightly, kicking his boots off and stretching luxuriously. "Jald, if you even begin to lecture me, I'm gonna knock you out."

Jald cocked an eyebrow, amused smile gone in a second. "Oh, I see…and how are you going to do- "His words were cut off as a pillow smacked into his face. "Ok, Eroket, very amusing. I know you like to unwind but this is just childi-"The pillow smacked him again.

"Stop it!" He yelled, raising his arms to shield his head, hiding the laughter that threatened to erupt from his belly.

"Come on! You must be feeling old," Eroket teased with another grin, "If you can let an upstart like me humiliate the great Manticore with a pillow!"

"I'll show you old!" Jald growled, grabbing the pillow off his bed and taking a swing, hitting Eroket in the shoulder to which the ermine promptly retaliation with a strike to the leg.

The tension they had built up over the last few days seemed to fade, replaced by the oh-so rare feeling of ease and comfort, of being able to unwind and let loose as they so rarely did.

When their energy was spent, both the ermine and the ferret dropped back to the bed, both laughing happily. Jald smirks and cracked his knuckles, tossing the soft pillow back on his bed. "I've got to hand it to you, kid. You know how to make for a good enjoyment that doesn't involve alcohol or death."

"I guess it's a Nightblade thing." Eroket replied with a light wink of an amber eye. The two laughed again and Jald's grin widened.

"Oh, you have no idea how irritating Aleran was when he was in a mood…" Jald laughed and shook his head. "It's nearly been a year since we've started traveling together. We've done a lot, in that time."

Ero's smile turned a bit wistful. "Remember that slaving operation we stopped?"  
"The mining one?" Jald smirked and nodded, "How about those religious fanatics who had that city in a stranglehold?"  
"First time in my life I've ever been accused of being a 'Hellgates bound heretic!' Eroket laughed again. "Both gave me quite a few good scars…"

"The key is not letting them touch you, little Nightblade."

"That's rich coming from a beast that's covered in them."

"Hey, lay off! We were all young once."  
"Oh, the great Jald Nightson admits to being mortal! This is a moment for the ages."

"Shut up." Jald's growl didn't match his smile.

Eroket laughed lightly and shook his head, "What was Odhran like? I keep hearing about him."

Jald shook his head, smirking lightly. "About as unsavory as Geras. Sadistic bastard. The kind to have a guy killed because a girl he wants loves him. Even invented a new torture method. Glad he's in the ground now…"

"Sounds like a prince of a beast," Eroket muttered, rubbing his arm lightly as if recalling something.

"You okay, Eroket?"

"Yeah…the scars here tend to hurt a bit sometimes…"

"From?"

"General Visla…" Eroket replies, pronouncing the name and title as if it were a curse. "Bastard tortured me before he planned to kill me."

Jald's cordial look was replaced by a flicker of sympathy and something else-guilt? "I'm sorry…"

"I've…forgiven you long since, Jald. Visla deserved to die at any rate…"

"There are a lot of rumors, but the only true accounting seems to be with you…you mind telling me?"  
"I got free…he was washing his burns by a river and I attacked him. We were swept up by the current…he stuck a knife in me when we came up-a poison one, not enough to kill me. I managed to gash him and shoved him back in the water. It drew pike…" He didn't even need to finish.

Jald nodded once and patted Eroket on the shoulder approvingly. "I'm sorry about our-your soldiers."

"The only one to blame is Visla…"

"I killed Kalis, you know that…"

"You're not that creature anymore, Jald Nightson," Eroket replied softly. "That Jald Nightson is dead…Kalis…would forgive you, I know that. You've done all you can to make amends."

Jald Nightson didn't speak of it anymore; he wanted the somber atmosphere gone and buried. He tried a light smile and patted Eroket's shoulder. "Enough gloom and doom, Ero. Tomorrow, we'll see what we can do. The plan's to head to Meridian, right? Boneflower and Morik are waiting for us."

Eroket nodded and smiled lightly. "Good plan I'll head out tomorrow. My turn to scout anyways…Comrades?"

Jald Nightson put his paw over that of the son of the beast that he considered dear to him as a brother. "You do that. Comrades."

Jald waited to make sure Eroket was asleep before he went to his own bed.

-

Jirik was restless now, to the point of madness.

The black fox's breathing was heavy and his movements erratic. He twitched, bit into his lip, and flexed his claws; all the others, even Hallic were giving him a wide berth.

Harkon sat close to Kardran and Curian, with Hallic a small distance away. There was no fire, for drawing attention to their group in Mossflower Wood was not a wise thing to do. If reports were correct, Nameless Clan territory and groups of woodlanders sympathetic to said clan were very close by. They hoped Jirik could restrain himself long enough to reach the Nameless Clan warriors.

Jirik was thankfully silent; the black fox never shared his discomforts or his pleasures.

"I want to scout alone." Jirik whispered suddenly, black hooded head raising, unblinking crimson eyes narrowed to moon-like slits.

"What?" Curian folded his paws. Jirik may have been the best fighter next to their lord and master, but by all that was holy, Kirathal had put HIM in charge of this hunting party and Curian would be damned if he'd take any insolence or disobedience from even this freak and perversion spawned by House Valrik of the north.

Jirik's voice was steady and calm. "It is obvious to me we are the right path, but is obvious to me the rest of you require rest and sleep. As of this moment, I do not."

"You think I'm stupid enough to let you run off by yourself, Jirik?" Curian stood, not placing a paw on his sword, for he knew the troubles that would invite. For now, flaunting his authority would have to do, "That'd be the equivalent of Lord Kirathal throwing down his weapons, blindfolding himself and tying himself up for good measure in front of Tethik!"  
"Lovely analogy," replied Jirik dryly, drawing a snarling snicker from Hallic Thargo, who leaned up against a tree, sharpening the blades of his trident. Harkon stood by calmly with Kardran, both knowing where they'd stand, but neither wanting to take that stand until it became absolutely necessary.

Jirik stood as well, gliding sinuously to his feet, Curian noticed, like a shadow. "I can follow my mission; Curian…didn't Lord Kirathal tell you to use whatever means necessary, as well? I want this new world as much as you…we're in this together…brother." He added as a mocking afterthought.

Curian's teeth grit, weighing his options. There were great plusses, but great negatives to be had as well. Jirik could indeed fulfill their mission or start a massacre or two…

Or get himself killed…the seductive thought passed through his mind and he restrained a smirk. Kirathal would never complain about Jirik's end if it had brought some good…a massacre could only help their cause and their mission? The sooner it was completed the better. "Run along, Jirik…good hunting."

Jirik bowed from the waist down, not bothering to raise his hood as he whispered. "Good hunting indeed."

He turned and sped off into the night. Good hunting; if only Curian knew how good.

-

Dawn cracked slowly over Mossflower Wood and Merrith Falis was a quick riser.

The woodlander groups had been kind and generous to the Nameless Clan in their area, permitting them shelter, food, rest and above all: sanctuary from Geras Iridanis and his mad power play.

Falis accepted a bowl of cool water from a mouse child and drank quickly, nodding to his guards to enjoy themselves. The woods were filled with woodlanders, squirrels, otters, mice, voles and the like; Falis's business had once been run by an otter, the unlamented Odhran and business with woodlander species and even employment was rare, but not unheard of. There was no grudge between species now, he was glad to know.

Falis nodded to one of his guards and whispered, "We've got our beasts set up, right?"

The guard nodded. "Yessir. We established five guards in the woods. If anybeast decides they want to get the drop on us, we'll be read to get you out of here."

Falis sighed with relief. It was in the middle of this sigh, the screams began.

The head of a squirrel landed in the center of the camp. Falis cried out in shocked surprise. "Wha!"

"That wasn't too…artful…" The voice was like honeyed velvet. From the woods…he emerged. A nightmare dressed in a black cloak, bloodstained sword in a paw, stains of crimson covering the cloak.

It was death.

While the woodlanders were slow to react, still thinking nothing this horrible could befall them, Falis's training and instincts took over. "Get him!"

His first guard was already rushing at the black cloaked nightmare that had slain one of their guards-and by the looks of things, all five, Falis thought grimly.

"Skirek, wait, you're-"

"A DEAD FOOL!"

The scream ripped from the throat of the black cloaked nightmare, a swift motion hurling the cloak into the face of the guard, forcing him to take a precious few seconds to disentangle himself. That was all the time the monster needed.

He sprang, kicking off a tree, powerful leg muscles carrying him into the air. "I CLAIM YOUR LIFE!" The howl ripped from his throat. By the time Skirek managed to look up, it was too late. For all his training and years of service, they meant nothing now.

But that was not what tore at Falis's sanity. He saw the creature now in full light. The crimson eyes, alight with delight and hunger, but that smile, oh that horrible smile.

The lips were pulled back, exposing two rows of pearly fangs locked in a savage grin, the calm velvet exterior had left the demon, replaced by the demonic glee of a beast possessed.

Then the sword struck Skirek's head from his body. Gore and blood splashed over the ground, stained the black fox's fur, but he didn't seem to mind, instead he seemed to welcome it as if the blood comforted him, gave him pleasure.

Falis's remaining two guards ran at the fox, who greeted them with that same grin, enough to destroy a beast's sanity in a clawing stroke. The woodlanders had begun to run now, some having the presence of mind, but most were frozen shock still by the scene that must have been a nightmare.

It had to be.

As Jirik Valrik walked towards him, laughing all the while, Falis prayed to wake up. Or go to sleep.

-

It was the second hour of Eroket's scouting when the screams began.

They were gut and heart wrenching, terrible to hear. For a moment, he debated rushing back, to tell the Nameless Clan, for he knew they were coming from the direction in which Falis and his small contingent had traveled to-curse the idiot who said it was best to hide out in small groups away from the main force-but then he realized there were too many screams to just be coming from nine Nameless Clan beasts.

He couldn't leave innocent woodlanders to their fates; he just could not…even if it meant his death.

Eroket was running to the direction of the sound before he realized he had even made a decision. The rumble of thunder alluded to the coming rain and rain it did. Pour would have been a better term. The rain soaked the fur that was visible, plastering it to his skin in a most unpleasant fashion.

Eroket Nightblade couldn't have cared less. One paw locked on the hilt of his Schianova and he continued to run, even when the last scream died.

What greeted him was a scene from a nightmare. Corpses lay strewn over the forest floor, limbs, whole bodies, heads; the scene was carnage was gut-wrenching even to a hardened warrior and killer like Eroket. He turned away before the contents of his stomach could come up, but his breath came in heavy gasps now.

What…thing could do this to innocent beasts? What monstrosity could be responsible for this atrocity?

"Over here…" The voice was seductive and inviting, like oil sliding over ice.

Eroket's sword freed itself instantly and he ran. Whoever the perpetrator of this carnage was, he would die for it, he would suffer for-

The black fox stood over the mutilated corpse of Falis, bloodstained sword in one paw…and a mousebabe in the other, gripping him by his head, holding him off the ground. The child was crying out in pain and fear so that Eroket's heart wrenched. "Put him down, you bastard!"

"Oh, temper, temper, temper…" The voice turning mocking, the handsome features that seemed carved from ebon wood were mocking, the light smile that was matched in crimson eyes that were like twin pits of fresh spilt blood. "That's the wrong attitude, Eroket Nightblade…we wouldn't want my blade to slip."

Eroket paused, biting his lip lightly, sword held out and breath quickening. "Put him down…you're one of Kirathal's, right?"

"I am Jirik Valrik of Lord Kirathal's Ice Wolves, indeed."

"Then you've been sent after me. Some kid isn't involved in this! Put him down!"

"Why?" The mocking smile tore at Eroket. "Oh, poor little boy, you're sentimental! Maybe this brings…memories best left forgotten? Perhaps, perhaps; but this is only a child and maybe I've had my fill today…I could sate it with you and let it be over. But then again, how would this anger you…to make you a challenge worthy of me…or maybe my Lord," Jirik's eyes carried that same mocking smile.

"Well, I could…but then again, I have my orders to fulfill!" The face change, shifted, altered…becoming that of a demon's, all fangs and burning lust, "None shall survive! THAT IS THE LAW AND HIS ORDER!"

Eroket was rushing forward, a denying scream on his lips, but the bloodstained sword rose and fell upon the helpless child, tearing his life away and ending his screams forever.

"YOU BASTARD!" Eroket screamed, coming forward with a vicious barrage of attacks. He was not rational; rationality was forgotten in the mad rage, the desire to cut down this perversion, this evil in front of him.

Jirik's sword danced with Eroket's, meeting it strike for strike, the corpse was dropped, allowing him to wield his sword perfectly, countering every one of the mad ermine's moves.

"Is this all!" The demon laughed, fangs bared in that mocking grin, "How can a beast who lets his anger consume him instead of making it a part of him stand against me? If you cannot defeat me, how can you ever defeat the master! You're not even trying!" He was laughing madly, insanely, but Eroket didn't care.

Then Jirik's sword wove out of the nest of strikes, striking Eroket's shoulder. The ermine barely noticed, so consumed with bloodlust was he…but when one strike got through, it opened the way for others.

"I have you now!" Jirik's paw struck him in the head, dazing him for a moment and that moment was all that was required. Jirik threw his sword down and moved in close, raining blows upon the hapless ermine, stealing his fury and stealing his energy.

Finally the barrage ended as Jirik drove his knee into Eroket's stomach, driving the breath from the ermine.

As Eroket sobbed for breath, Jirik flung him to the ground roughly, beside the mouse's corpse.

"How sad…the hero can't save the helpless," Jirik laughed again and retrieved his sword, "Hate me, go on. Master that rage, make it part of you. I want to fight a beast like that…go on, Eroket Nightblade! CURSE ME! Hmmm, y'know, it is bad manners to kick a beast when he's down, but it's too! Much! Damn! FUN!" With every word, he delivered sharp kick to Eroket's side.

Eroket sobbed for breath, all energy stolen by this monster. He couldn't even save one child…he had let him die in front of him…

"You'll never have a chance unless you live to fight, live to kill, boy. That's the simple truth. I'll let you live and I want you to remember in your private nightmares that you could never stop me unless you become me."

The demon was gone into the forest, laughing again. And Eroket Nightblade, bruised, battered, beaten and soaked by rain could only stare in the dead eyes of a dead child, two words whispered over and over again from a denying mouth. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

But there was nobeast to hear him.

Nobeast was there to absolve him.


	11. The End of Innocence

_I'm sorry…_

The words rang hollow in his head; the sweet darkness that claimed them brought no respite.

_It wasn't my fault…_

Why did it torture him so much?

_Blood on bloodstained paws…_

_Just like…Just like…_

"Burn. Everything…" The horrible gloating voice crowed, the order greeted by hearty laughter and cheers of beasts all too willing to destroy the simple village in which the Nightblade family had made their home.

He could see nothing, just the darkness as his mother held him in a tight hug, speaking imploringly to him, her voice whispered and rushed; desperate to give her son one chance to escape.

He was young still, but Eroket knew his father was not coming to protect them…and the booted footsteps drew closer, ever closer.

"Eroket." Her voice was firm, dark brown eyes imploring his attention, "You have to live. Do you understand me? I want you to run as far and as fast as you can from this place until you can't see it anymore. Your father and I both hoped this would never reach you, but now that it has…" Her voice broke off for one moment as there was a pounding on the door and the cruel, gloating voice snarled.

"Open it up, bitch!"

Steeling herself, his mother pressed her paws to his shoulders. "This is a result of mine and Aleran's pasts, but the fate will not be yours. Listen!" She whispered fiercely as Eroket began to look down, tears appearing in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Eroket…" She gave him one of the gentle, reassuring smiles that she would give him to comfort him in the middle of the night, "We'll always watch over you…we both love you…Now, whether you forget us or devote your life to revenge is your choice. Whatever you choose, be happy in the end. That is all we wish for."

The door splintered and the heavy footsteps drew closer.

"You gave us a tough time of it, ya little wench…"

"Commander!"

"What?" The ferret snarled, looking up to his subordinate.

"There's a kid here…" The weasel looked down at Eroket, "Dun you think…"

"No, I don't!" the ferret growled angrily, twirling a sword in his paws. Eroket recognized it instantly: it was a schianova…this scum dared to defile his father's sword.

It was stained in blood.

His mother hadn't moved, her eyes turned imploringly to her son and she mouthed the word: "Run."

The ferret commander, he was a typical physical specimen for his race; brown fur, brown eyes, well formed figure of a beast used to carrying a sword…

"Gen'ral Visla gave us our orders…" The ferret replied in a curious accent, paw shooting out to catch Eroket's mother by her neck, yanking her up. "Tis a shame…I'd have loved to git ta know ye better, wench…"

There was no laughter from his entourage. The child's frightened amber eyes grew wide as the ferret commander pulled his arm back and thrust his sword through the mother's back.

The child screamed, terror and loss overwhelming the mind that didn't know how to cope with it. Something warm splashed over him, drenching his paws in a sticky, red fluid.

"Take care of th' brat, will ya?" The ferret smirked lightly, letting the mother hang upon his blade as her life faded.

Eyes of mother and child met briefly, the soft brown eyes still imploring it: "Run…live…" And she was gone, the flame of life fading from her as the light flees a candle.

The ferret's eyes narrowed. "No volunteers?" Not a beast had raised his sword.

"'e's a kid!"  
"He's a witness and he's a Nightblade!" The ferret screamed back. "If none of ya have the guts ta do it, then I'll do it m'self!"

As he began to advance on Eroket, something within the young ermine that had left him paralyzed with fear snapped.

He was bolting already, running through a gap between the ferret and the weasel. He heard the ferret's voice scream. "Ya could've gotten him, you idiots! Get some of my REAL soldiers after him!"

The young ermine ran out of the room, through the open door, through the fields, as fast as he could. The scent of smoke reached his nostrils and he turned, staring in silent terror as his home, his village…was aflame. He saw the army that had done this, standing aside and watching his home burn. He saw the huge weasel adorned in gray armor, would never forget the hideous mutilated face of General Visla…saw the curious look of the emaciated stoat-he was still near enough to see well- looking to the ground, weeping bitter tears as if he were ashamed.

"Get him!" The young ermine turned to see a small group, four soldiers, rushing towards him, weapons drawn.

These must have been the 'real soldiers' that ferret had mentioned. He had dallied too long, Eroket knew. He ran again, moving desperately through the fields. Time had lost all meaning and the seasoned warriors were not giving up.

Finally, a stray stone marked his downfall. He slipped over a stray rock, slipped! For his mother's words, for his drive to live, some stupid fluke was leaving him to death…

"You gave us a chase, ya little Nightblade brat!" One of them, a ferret hissed, advancing quickly, sword drawn, "But we ain't softies like Sariss's whelps…"

"Rek!" One of the beasts suddenly screamed, "Be'ind the kid!"

"Ahh…" He couldn't find terror enough to scream…behind him? What'd that mean!

There was a sudden flash of steel and a scream and the ferret fell back, blood gushing from a torn throat.

"We were too late…" The rough voice was choked as if with grief.

"Maybe not too late…" The second, softer voice answered. "And we were able to ambush these…get behind us, child."

Eroket scrambled to his feet, briefly gazing at his rescuers.

The large of the two was a ferret, black as pitch, with small silver streaks in his fur and piercing emerald eyes. The black cloak he wore would have been enough to hide him in the night…his companion wore a similar garment.

The second was a weasel of gray fur and eyes, wearing a strange symbol Eroket did not understand.

"Death Watchers should not be hunting where they don't belong."

"Calpathions!" One of the surviving three snarled. The word meant nothing to Eroket.

"We are." The weasel replied calmly, unsheathing a sword from his side, eyes as hard and cold as stone. "We regret not being able to arrive in time to stop you completely from doing…THAT to that village…"

"W-who are you!" One snarled, nodding to his companions. Two to three…not bad odds, they had figured….so long as they charged as one…

"You will not be alive to remember our names." The ferret replied, his voice ice.

Eroket watched as they ran forward, seeking to use numbers to their advantage. In patterns and dazzling movements he had never seen before, the ferret and weasel's movements were fast and quick; and the three attackers were suddenly dead.

"The boy…" The weasel walked to his slowly, dropping his bloodstained sword and moving to his knee, "I am Kalis Deiran…I am sorry we could not arrive sooner…you are bleeding, are you cut bad?"

Though his footpaws were ragged and worn after such running, he was not wounded and Eroket managed to nod. "T-the blood isn't mine…"

The ferret moved behind the weasel, eyes locking on Eroket's own and a sudden gasp escaped him. The weasel who identified himself put a paw on Eroket's shoulder. "I am the leader of a military force known as Calpathions…we are mercenaries but we fight the Death Watch…who I assume destroyed your home.

"Y-yes…my mother…they…this is her blood." The young ermine managed to whisper, staring at his bloodstained paws.

"Jald, your cloak."

The ferret known as Jald surrendered his cloak quickly and the weasel gently draped the huge garment around Eroket's shoulders. "You have a choice…I don't expect it to be made now or lightly; We can drop you wherever you wish to go if you have other family…or you can remain with us. And become a soldier."

"I…I…"

"Come, I'll carry you…" the weasel gently lifted him, wrapped in the warm cloak. If the ferret was cold, he didn't complain

These…these are real soldiers. They're warriors…They fight those murderers…

"I…I want to join you…" The ermine whispered softly, "I want to be trained to fight.

"After what you've been through this night, you must take time to think, child…"

"My name is Eroket. Eroket Nightblade."

The ferret and the weasel paused to look at one another.

"There's room in Talrid's unit…Sarhein's is full. The archers have just lost their commander, too."

"He's not fighting now, Jald." The weasel replied, "Nightblade, is it? A good name…our camp isn't too far and we've concealed it…I'm sorry we couldn't be in time…"

The young ermine didn't respond. Life. Vengeance. Live for what now?

Revenge…the life of a mercenary…he could not decide tonight, but there was one thing he was sure of as he looked at the bloodstained paws, marking the end of childish innocence.

"Get me some red dye…"

-

Gasping, Eroket awoke, realizing he was in a bed, bandages around his bruised ribs and the cut on his shoulder and that Jald Nightson was sitting by his bedside.

The expression of worry and care was one Eroket would never have believed possible. "J-jald…"

"Ero!" Jald whispered, "Good fates Ero, what happened to you? We found by the…by the slaughter. Falis is dead, the other heads are panicking…"

"The child!" Eroket whispered suddenly, tears forming in his eyes, "He killed him just to upset me…"

"Who?" Jald's eyes suddenly hardened. Of all the crimes in warfare, rape and child killing ranked lowest with him and he punished them with a swift sword.

"That demon…Jirik Valrik."

"You fought him? You fought Jirik Valrik and you live?" Jald's voice was incredulous.

"Who the hell do you think did this to me!" Eroket screamed angrily.

"You're not hurt badly, Eroket. There'll be no scars, no fractures…he knew where to strike just to deprive you of energy."

"He killed that kid," Eroket whispered, burying his head in his paws, breathing heavily, but tears would not come.

"He's a monster. He lives to kill; women or kids, doesn't matter to him."

"Why, why would he let me live?"

Jald was silent for a moment before he let out a great sigh. "He wants you to become like him. He wants to break you down and fight you when you live for nothing else but killing him. He's done it before."

"Never…"

"Good." Jald growled lightly and swore. "Damn it, he couldn't be alone either! Kirath would never send him on such a vague mission completely unleashed…which means…" His eyes widened, "They'll be moving on here which means we have to stop them.

Eroket swung himself into a sitting position. "I can fight how I am. I've had worse. A lot worse."

"Jirk and Kirath are the worst of the Ice Wolves. We can take the rest."

"Then I guess we'd better do so," Eroket hissed, voice tinged with hatred, "Warmongering monsters the two of them…"

Jald sighed lightly, "I need you, Eroket. Not a monster, not a bloodthirsty revenge-crazed psychotic, but you. I can understand what you're going through and I don't mean to sound callous, but I need to fully conscious and sane. You're one of the best fighters I've ever seen and I need that fighter! If you lose it, you'll be doing what he wants!"

Eroket Nightblade was silent for a moment, before he looked at his crimson paws. Blood, blood and more blood were all he seemed to collect. He had dyed them so as to remember his mother's last words, her last wishes, to remind himself of her blood on his paws. To honor her last request so he could fulfill it.

He could not be expected to anything near 'alright' now…the haunting eyes of the dead child haunted his mind still, but...it had not been his fault. As his mother's death had been the work of Jirik Iridanis's fault, this child was dead because of Jirik Valrik.

On Kirathal Frostclaw's orders, he reminded himself, mastering his cool rage as he had so many times in the past.

He could not have saved them. He could not blame himself.

But the one thing he could do: he could avenge them.


	12. Geras's deal

"What were you thinking! Were you even thinking at all! You psychotic! You madbeast!" Curian's ranting grew more colorful, but Jirik Valrik seemed not to care a whit.

"Are you done?" No mockery lay beyond that frozen grin; Jirik was simply posing a question. "I am enjoying these colorful titles you have for me, Curian, but I prefer my given one. What is the problem?"  
Curian sucked in a breath of refreshing air to replenish his lungs' shouting power before snarling full in Jirik's face, "The PROBLEM is you going off by yourself and butchering a group of woodlanders! My problem is innocent beasts being slaughtered for nothing more than your amusement! My problem is that I actually trusted you, you sadistic son of a bitch!"  
Jirik's crimson eyes locked on Curian's for a moment before the black fox lowered his head. It seemed for a second as if he was actually being submissive, actually apologizing…but then his shoulders began to convulse and insane laughter erupted from his mouth. "Heh heh heh heh heh! Oh, Vulpuz, that was rich! Are you so naïve, Curian, to believe beasts will not die in an eternal war? I got rid of a Nameless Clan head didn't I?"  
Curian's eyes flicked to Harkon, Kardran and Hallic briefly. Harkon looked grim, his own rage barely masked by his nonchalant countenance. Kardran was in similar straits, but the otter was crouched by a tree, staring down at the ground. Hallic…well, Hallic was grinning widely as if this was all great fun to him, his sharpened fangs bared and his bloodshot eyes narrowed as if anticipating which of the two would strike the first blow.  
"There's a difference between dying in our cause and for your twisted amusement, Valrik…I view civilian deaths as unavoidable tragedies; collateral damage that should be minimized…unlike you I fight for the soldiers and for our rights, not for the pleasure of killing."  
"Cry me a river."  
"I will bleed you one!" Curian screamed, a sword ripping from its sheath, eyes flaring.  
"Curian!" Harkon's cry pierced through the red mists of rage as Jirik's paw flew to his own blade. The golden fox's heavy breathing slowed and slowly the sword found the sheath again.  
"I was just following orders, anyways…" Jirik replied with the same mocking smile. "Wouldn't do for the Ice Wolves to fight amongst ourselves, would it? I saw the Nameless Clan beasts so I killed them. The woodlanders were…collateral damage, as you put it?"  
Curian, inwardly took several steps back to relative safety. "Just shut up, you monster…" The snarl burst from between the cage of clenched fangs.  
Jirik simply laughed. "Well, the other part of our mission should be easy…Nightblade will come to us. So will Nightson. I'm reasonably certain I've assured this."  
"You butchered so many just for that…." Kardran whispered, shaking his head.  
Jirik tsked lightly and shook his head again. "I guess Lord Kirathal and I stand alone in knowing what must be done."  
Curian spun again and even Harkon found it difficult to control himself. "Lord Kirathal is a great beast…don't you ever insult him by placing yourself on the same level as him in anything…let alone knowledge."  
"Believe what you want," Jirik replied with a casual shrug, moving to lean against a tree, not seeming to care about the bloodstains on his clothing and fur.  
Curian sat by the others, his grim demeanor unchanging. How could he have angered the fates so much that they put a monster like Jirik with him?  
Harkon was the same as Curian: Soldiers needed recognition, the world needed to change…but how could Kirathal keep such a demon as Jirik chained to their side? If they were so righteous, why did they side with a monster like Jirik instead of killing him? Why did Kirathal, the pinnacle of justice to Harkon, Curian and Kallia soil the Ice Wolves and the purity of their beliefs by keeping Jirik, why?  
Curian shook away the blasphemous thoughts. He was a soldier and his duty was to follow as always. It was not to question, never to question. Lord Kirathal was the one who was right…Kirathal was the one who was

right. That was how it always would be. If he kept Jirik, he had his reasons and Curian, a foot soldier in his Lord's grand game had no right to second-guess them.  
That was the truth. He knew it.  
-

_I'd give anything to make you hear me…_

He whirled, swords slicing through his wooden targets, the practice area empty save for him.

_I'll believe all your lives…just pretend you love me._

Black cloak, specifically tailored for his small body, was cast into a corner of the training room. The wooden target was a board in the vague likeness of a beast, marks made with bright red paint showed the vital spots, where his blades were supposed to strike.

_I'll be anything for you._

Spin, cut, and slice. If he goes overhead, bring your swords up, turn the left one flat up to block and thrust with the right!

The right sword stabbed through the bright red mark that designated the heart. It took him a few moments to free it. With a quick motion, he twirled his sword-for show if nothing else- and placed them in their sheaths. A paw went to his face, to the white mask that so often covered it.

Davrag had paid some beast to make the thing for him years ago and it fit his specifications entirely; completely without expression, with slit for the eyes and breathing. Nothing but emptiness could be seen in his visage while he wore that mask.

A child's face covered by the emptiness of war and death, turned into a killing machine whose swords brought death with every swing. That's all he was now.

All for Davrag. All for his lord and master.

This world was sick. The sugar coatings of these cities, of the sapphire seas and ports, of the brave armies and the bustling markets concealed the rottenness within, the cruel realities of a world ruled by greed, avarice and malice where beasts like Geras Iridanis held sway. Innocent creatures had nothing to fear from a killer's blade…except when they got in the way.

He'd taken so many lives with the Five, Verria was just the latest. He'd made his life, chosen his path all for Davrag, his savior.

But now, things were changing! He didn't like it, it disturbed him. Verria was dead, Davrag was…different. He wasn't the cocky, cruel and commanding Davrag he'd been before his facial mutilation at the paws of this Eroket Nightblade fellow (Privately, Arredon thought anybeast who could match his Master so must be a beast worthy of admiration.) It was a strange situation that evoked strange feelings.

Ah, well, he thought with a light sigh, taking up his cloak. He was a follower, not a leader. No matter what Davrag chose, he'd be there…as a devoted servant…as a companion and as a friend.

Kirathal Frostclaw was a disturbing beast though, one who could evoke a shudder in even Arredon Toroth's heart. Such clear malice was reflected in those shining, sapphire eyes, as blue as the azure seas of Calishan…such desires, such twisted ideologies.

Arredon couldn't help but applaud it in a twisted way. Respect for an opponent had ever been a staple of his way of life. Disrespect an adversary and you slice away your advantage by underestimating him. Arredon would never make that mistake. He knew he had to be getting back to Davrag now; The two had plans to make…if Davrag was to aid Kirathal, Arredon would dutifully follow.

He was not smiling as he exited the training room.

Geras watched the ship pull into the harbor. A few bribes had made certain prying eyes were nowhere near this little exchange.

The ship was a vessel that flew black and red sails, a symbol of power in the Southern Isles, but in Calishan, it meant nothing to Geras. The ferret crimelord's mouth twisted in a smirk and a paw raised and he snapped his fingers.

Kirathal Frostclaw walked to Geras, paw on the hilt of his sword as he watched the ship-neither majestic nor imposing- pull into the harbor. Tethik walked on the Crimelord's other side, smirking lightly as he pawed his spear. The blind fox was undoubtedly hoping this meeting would go sour, Geras thought sourly. He no doubt figured he could take out Kirathal amidst the confusion; Geras marveled at how deep hatred could run after being built in just one action.

"Kallia, left side. Tethik, right." Kirathal flicked his head to them, placing the vixen and the blind fox on either side of Geras, a respectful few paces behind. Kirathal himself walked next to the master of Crimson Tears, on the left, of course.

The ship's gangplank was set up shortly thereafter and the corsairs bowed off respectfully. Geras hid a sneer as he walked up the rough, wooden entryway; corsairs were fools. Rough, uncouth with no mind for tactics or brilliance at all. Still, they were a useful part of his plan.

Geras stepped upon the deck, followed by his trio of Ice Wolf bodyguards, taking a moment to survey the scene; he was dressed in his best garments, wearing the Serion Redfletch-forged sword of Aleran Nightblade at his hip, hoping to impress his possible partner.

The corsair crew were gathered around, dressed in tattered silks and soiled finery, no doubt taken from some conquests or other, less legal matters; bone bracelets, bandannas, eye patches…all the stereotypes were there. It did not take Geras long to spot the Wave Lord himself.

Dukat Nidas was seated upon a large chair that had been placed by the captain's cabin and his fiery green eyes now surveyed the three newcomers with mingled interest and contempt. He no doubt possessed the same disdain for land-dwelling warriors and killers that Geras possessed for his own seafaring breed.

Nidas was a large wildcat with a commanding posture, dressed in a sweeping crimson cape and plain sea green silks with the only compliment a crimson bandanna wrapped around his brow. His fur was a silvery gray and from what Geras could see, his form was weathered and slim, arms tight with muscles, no doubt the result of a life spent as a seabeast.

"Geras." The wildcat's voice was deep and rough, a claw tapping against the arm of his chair. Geras knew wildcats were a rare breed but were generally ferocious fighters with their size and natural ferocity…even without weaponry. If the ferret was uneasy, he didn't show it, merely opting to acknowledge himself with a light bow.

"Dukat."

Nidas nodded lightly. "You brought only three…I can't tell if you're brave or stupid."

"Not just any three, corsair." Geras answered, quelling a more fiery response. "These are the Ice Wolves…the fox beside me is Kirathal Frostclaw, known as the Demon of the North. They are sufficient bodyguards."

Nidas shrugged lightly, "Never heard of them…"

Kallia arched an eyebrow. Kirath gave her a light smirk and the vixen remained where she was. Tethik displayed no emotion, simply rested his spear against his shoulder. Geras took the Wave Lord's remark with good humor, however. "I assure you, while news of their exploits may not reach to your islands, on the mainland and in the north they are the most powerful and feared killers…possibly in this world. One of them is said to be the son of Vulpuz himself…"

There was some laughter among the uncouth corsairs, but some of the more superstitious looking ones looked uneasy at Geras's remark. Nidas did not look amused, however. One did not lead a mighty corsair fleet by being superstitious or foolish and Geras knew Dukat Nidas was neither.

"Lovely title, Geras…" Nidas replied evenly. "I've seen no real way I can profit from your scheme yet…to risk my corsairs in battle against Calishan and then move on to other cities? Come now, Geras, as a business-beast yourself, you can see the possible repercussions. It was amazingly difficult to come down here myself, but your ferret toady's words were quite persuasive…where is he anyways?"

"Sithrin is managing affairs," Geras replied curtly, "And I hear you are having a tiny problem in your isles…what was that rebel's name? Mordath?"  
Dukat Nidas's eyes narrowed with hatred and anger and his fangs were bared in a hiss. "Correct…" He ground out, claws gripping the arm of his chair tightly.

Geras had put out the lure, now to reel in his fish, he thought. Things had been going terribly since Davrag Joris had reappeared. He'd lost face and respect amongst his subordinates after Arredon Toroth had nearly broken his arm and more after Verria's 'disappearance.' He'd seen the dangerous fire in Arithia's eyes and barely even saw the sadistic female anymore…he needed this alliance, needed the benefits if he was to win back face among Crimson Tears.

"We can deal with him…I have with me three beasts whose blades carved out empires," Geras boasted with a light grin. "There are others…they have assassinated far more than a corsair rebel. Why, they could easily deal with your rebel Mordath…"

Dukat's eyes narrowed again and he leaned forward. "Are you implying my corsairs are incompetents, Iridanis?"

"Of course not…" Geras replied smoothly, "But murdering a highly protected rebel leader on his own turf is difficult in a straight fight, especially when he's surrounded by corsairs, soldiers and monitor lizards, hm? My beasts could do it…he hasn't seen them, he doesn't know them. I assure you Kirathal Frostclaw alone is capable of it…"

Nidas leaned back, "I will not take your word for it…I must have proof of their exploits. Your word is not enough. Of course," He added with a light smirk, "We could settle this the old corsair way…"

Geras made a small signal that Kirath caught, "Of course, Dukat."

"I want to see their best against one of mine…"

Geras nodded lightly and Dukat's grin widened, revealing a row of pearly fangs. "Cathrak!"

The corsairs parted and the biggest ferret Geras had ever seen stepped through the ranks. His fur was golden brown, as if bronzed by the sun of his native islands and he seemed to possess not a bit of fat anywhere on his body, all muscle and sinew.

Nidas smiled calmly, "This is Cathrak, one of my best warriors…let this 'Kirathal Frostclaw' test himself. If he wins, then I shall aid you, but Cathrak wins then you will lend me these Ice Wolves and anything else I require first and it will be for me to decide if I aid you or not, agreed?"

Geras had no doubt, "Agreed. Kirath." He nodded to the arctic fox. Kirathal's eyes flicked idly to Cathrak and then to Nidas and then back to the ferret who was pawing a huge scimitar in anticipation and then to the grinning corsairs.

"Tethik, you're up."

"What?" Geras hissed and Nidas snarled, both clearly not amused by Kirathal's decision.

"Is this a joke, Iridanis? Is your champion afraid?"

"What are you doing, Frostclaw?" Geras hissed angrily, turning on Kirath, fury blazing in his eyes as he snarled, "Are you trying to make me look-"

"I'm tired." Kirathal replied with a light shrug. "Just not in the mood, I suppose. Tethik'll be more'n enough for this one."

The blind fox's mouth slowly stretched in a grin and he reached up to undo the bandanna around the sockets where his eyes once rested, passing it to Kirath and twirling his spear calmly. Nidas laughed as Tethik removed the cloth, "A blind fox? You must really want to lose this, Iridanis!"

"Tethik is sufficient," Geras replied coldly. "His skill may not be up to par with his master's, but I'll guarantee he's a match for any corsair ever to live…"  
"Has he fought them in their sleep?" Nidas queried mockingly, drawing laughter from the corsairs and causing Geras's teeth to grind.

"Don't mess this up, Kirath…"

"It's over already," The white fox replied, smirking coldly. "Kallia, stay by me…"

Kallia walked to Kirath, keeping a paw on her sword, "Sir, I know you put stock in Tethik's abilities, but you don't know a thing about how that big ferret fights…"  
"He's a corsair," Kirathal answered both to Geras and Kallia, "Look how he swaggers…once Tethik was nearly a match for me in my younger days…you forget, my darling, that the best does not hurl his title around. I could tell from this ferret's swagger he's not worth my time…I want to fight a warrior, not a braggart idiot and," He shrugged, "I know Tethik well enough…see the power of his Sight, Kallia…no Ice Wolf will die to his fool, especially not Tethik."

Kallia nodded lightly, sighing, "I trust you, milord…"

Geras seemed less inclined, simply folding his arms and watching as Tethik stepped forward. Silence fell across the deck from corsair and Ice Wolf alike as Tethik cracked his neck. The huge ferret Cathrak laughed, "Are the Ice Wolves so weak that they must send a blind beast to fight me?"

Tethik's fangs showed in a fierce grin as he spun his spear up, "Who is this seabeast who flaunts himself? Is he really so weak that he must try to impress me?"

Taunts were a customary part of any duel and Tethik excelled at them. The huge ferret's eyes narrowed and he twirled his scimitar. "I'll enjoy this, fox…"

"I don't think you will," Tethik replied with a light smirk, lowering himself into a crouch.

With a snarl Cathrak came on, swinging his scimitar in an arc meant to behead Tethik, suddenly growling in shocked surprise as he overbalanced, his momentum carrying him forward, turning suddenly to see Tethik smiling at him calmly. "You use your size and strength to overwhelm your enemy. A good tactic, but I'm afraid it's useless against an Ice Wolf!"

Cathrak growled and lunged again, this time attempting to hook his scimitar around the fox's leg to trip him up. This failed too; Tethik sprang back, the scimitar striking only empty air.

"'ow the 'ell can yer do that!" Cathrak snarled as sweat began to bead on his brow. Tethik's smirk remained constant as he stepped forward, a paw flicking to his empty eye sockets.

"I can see you…my own eyes aren't as simple as yours."

To a superstitious corsair, it appeared as magic. It wasn't right that a fox could enter into a battle with magic eyes that saw even when his real eyes were gone! Cathrak's breathing quickened and he ran at Tethik once more.

Tethik's body moved in a series of dodges, knowing again and again where Cathrak would strike.

"It's incredible…" Geras whispered, watching the spectacle.

"It's harder in a crowd for him, but he manages," Kirath replied calmly. "He's trained with this for decades. He's fully mastered his inner eyes…the fool of a ferret, even if he were a match for Tethik, is too confused to keep his mind on fighting…"

As the master of the Ice Wolves predicted, Cathrak's next attacks showed no trace of style or form, simply slashing in an attempt to overwhelm his smaller and faster opponent whose spear darted in to pierce the ferret's stomach and chest in minor cuts.

Tethik spun suddenly as a particularly clumsy swing missed him, spinning behind his opponent and slamming his spear up through Cathrak's shoulder blades.

The large ferret managed a light gurgle before he fell to the deck and lay still. As the corsairs' respectful silence became a silence of shock, Tethik walked forward and put a footpaw on the dead ferret's back and retrieved his spear, wiping it on the late Cathrak's fur until he'd cleaned it. Then he went to take his place by Geras, Kirath and Kallia.

Nidas's silence and surprise ended quickly, the wildcat's eyes narrowing. "Quite the combat…" He clearly didn't believe Tethik had used magic of any sort unlike the superstitious crew-corsairs really were a stupid lot- but he couldn't figure out how the blind fox had pulled off these…tricks.

"And we have a deal…" Geras reminded him, cocky grin back in place.

"We do…and I'll honor it…" Nidas replied calmly before replying, "Is the white fox really better than the red?"

"Much…" Geras replied with a cold smirk, drawing a frown from Tethik so quick that nobeast but Kirathal caught it.

"I see…" Nidas replied. "Very well, Iridanis…I accept. You'll have my ships when you need them…anything else I should know?" He was clearly bitter thanks to his defeat.

"You have all the details," Geras answered with a light nod. "And you'll get the Ice Wolves for this de-Droka when this is all done…"

"I'll spare the ships that I can afford…" Nidas replied lightly and nodded. "Until then…"

Geras was grinning as he left Nidas's ship.


	13. How the swords cuts

_"Strike to kill or you'll never stand a chance against me, boy!" The amber eyes were hard and cruel, the mouth set in a grim smile and the silver swords were lifted in a defensive position._

_"I…I…" The young stoat stammered, gripping his own blades hesitantly, his body shaking but not from any cold. "I've never…I don't want…to kill you…"_

_"We'll have to fix that," The ebony-furred stoat replied without a trace of remorse. "You strike with any intention of holding back and no sword will ever penetrate your opponent's flesh if you cling to some stupid idealism! Kill or be killed, Arredon Toroth, I've trained you just for that!"  
He'd only struck at targets, only attacked his teacher with wooden practice swords. He had known he would be required to fight, but to kill? Could he? He'd killed before, yes…he'd killed his own…his own…_

_"Yes…master…" The young stoat whispered, fighting back the tears that threatened to break free from him. Could he ever wield a blade with intention to harm the stoat before him? The one who'd rescued him, who'd given him a purpose? _

_He steeled himself…strike to kill, strike so he himself would live and not the enemy. It didn't matter who it was so long as he stayed alive…it didn't matter. And yet…_

_He came forward, the speed perfect, the attacks coordinated, mastered fully in the many training sessions they had been through over the last year How many times had he stopped the fight, dropped his swords only to feel the pain in his paws and the horrible aches in his arms and legs. The bruises he had retained from his teacher hurt less than the knowledge that he was failing him…the oozing blisters on his paws were a testament to his own weakness. He could have wept in frustration, if he still remembered how. _

_"If you cannot even understand this, then you do not deserve to finish your training. It is my duty as your master to spare you this." Davrag Joris replied as he countered the first of the blows, "You can do better than this, Arredon! Fight or you shall die!"_

_I want to…I want to live…_

_Sudden fires blazed in his eyes as he leaped back, regaining his balance and avoiding a skewering strike from Davrag's offensive blade. With a feral snarl, he lunged forward, sword diving at Davrag's stomach._

_"Yes…" Davrag whispered, a wide grin spreading over his face as he brought one sword down to smack Arredon's blade away. "Follow up, the target is the right side of the neck!"_

_Arredon was already moving, sword stabbing in such conditions that it would slice into the flesh of the neck, severing an artery, slaying the adversary almost instantly. But Davrag, being well versed in the art of the two-pawed swordplay had found the counter to this move long ago._

_His body dropped into a crouch, sword holding Arredon's twirling over in a swift disengage as he spun to regain the position and advantage in a stance that would leave him a dozen easy slashes at his off-guard and helpless opponent._

_Arredon was already moving, spinning with speed that, while impressive, didn't match up to his mentor's. Davrag lunged back as Arredon's swords ripped into empty air. If he had been slower, Arredon's twin slash would have sliced his guts open, Davrag mused lightly._

_Arredon lunged, stabbing with both swords. Davrag countered with one of the few moves available: The cross down. _

_His sword came down together, trapping Arredon's between them. While this move defeated the disadvantage it left both of the combatants with no clear advantage, forcing the trapped swordsbeast to step back, leaving the two even again. Arredon's eyes blazed with that same fire and suddenly whipped his blades up with startling force, breaking the parry._

_Davrag was shocked for a fraction of a nanosecond before his fighter's mind grabbed on to the situation and he danced back as Arredon came on, swords moving in a dance of steel as Arredon employed the multiple strike technique, strike with one sword then pull back and then strike with another. To parry, one moved his blades in an exact mirror of his opponent's techniques. But if Arredon succeeded in driving Davrag's back against a wall, then his chance of survival were slim. He had to cut this of before Arredon forced him against a tree._

_He's truly doing it! He realized with a feeling of exultation. He's doing it…he IS my pupil! _

_Davrag's paw suddenly twisted, locking Arredon's striking sword around his own. He was toning down his skill and reflexes quite a bit, but Arredon's measure of skill for his age was incredible. _

_As Arredon, caught in the momentum of the move, struck with the other sword, Davrag caught that one too and with a flick of his paws, hurled the interlocked swords from Arredon's paws._

_His fist crashed into Arredon's jaw, hurling the youth to the ground. With a swift motion, Davrag tore a dagger from his belt and sprang upon Arredon, blade stabbing down upon the young stoat's chest._

_He stopped…just a fraction of a second before Arredon's paw gripped his wrist, he'd stopped the stab._

_For a moment they said nothing, amber eyes locking upon green, corruption gazing upon tainted innocence. "Magnificent, Arredon," Davrag finally replied._

_"Thank you…Lord…" His paw slackened the grip on Davrag's paw. For the first time, Davrag realized just how powerful the boy was…his grip was like a vise when he had a reason to use it._

_Davrag rose and reached down, offering a rough paw. After a moment, Arredon took it and Davrag pulled him to his feet._

_"Did I do…well?"  
"You did fine. Pack up our swords. We're heading back to Calishan." Davrag replied curtly._

_"Yessir." Arredon proceeded to do so, replacing them in their sheaths and wrapping them in his cloak. "Back…home?"_

_"Yes," Davrag nodded calmly, his back already to Arredon as he made his way out of the forest._

_"Sir…" Arredon walked up beside him, gaze filled with admiration. "Can I become…stronger?"  
"We'll see." Davrag replied with a light shrug. Arredon's gaze flicked down to his footpaws and after a long moment, Davrag reached an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close._

So many years…

Davrag Joris and Arredon Toroth's eyes remained on one another, both lost in the whirlwind of memories and recollections of events they had been witness to, places they had been and fights they had fought.

It was many hours before either of them moved.


	14. Honor amongst soldiers

Kardran sat at the base of a tree, sharpening one of his daggers slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and the overwhelming darkness of failure.

It had started so easy…planted as a spy within Crimson Tears during the reign of Gadric Kurion. Now and again, he had been called upon to order unsavory tasks, but only against rival gangs, only against those no more innocent than the other criminals Kardran worked with daily.

The coming of Geras Iridanis had changed that. The ferret's brilliance surpassed by his ruthlessness and cruelty and quickly he made allies amongst Crimson Tears with his promises of glory, even employing the famed Jald Nightson and soon Crimson Tears's full strength was arrayed behind Geras Iridanis, who was free to pursue his dream of an empire and now it seemed he had all but succeeded.

Could only two beasts really stand in his way? Kardran couldn't believe that. The Iridian operative had pleaded his case to his superiors more than once, but the warrior order had refused to move against Crimson Tears in open aggression. As a result, Kardran felt certain his soul was forever stained by the things Geras Iridanis had forced him to do.

Since the incident with the Calpathions-it seemed like an eternity to the otter formerly known as Garic Riverblade- his belief in justice had been slipping, his heart and mind clouding in depression and guilt; his destiny may have been to die an ignominious death in the dark underworld, his own allies denying he ever existed, his name becoming little more than a footnote in history; a disconcerting thought that by all rights shouldn't enter his mind at the moment, traveling with the Ice Wolves.

But, he privately wondered if they were as cruel as he had been taught; Jirik was a bloodthirsty demon, there was no doubt of that, but Harkon, Kallia and Curian seemed to truly believe what they were doing was right, the three soldiers following the lord they had pledged themselves too, just as Garic had done in the Iridian order. He hoped those three could be spared if the situation indeed came to full out battle, but he would end the life of Jirik Valrik or Hallic Thargo with enthusiasm. The Iridians were instilled with simple, yet vital principles: the defeat of the threats to peace. Kirathal Frostclaw's goals and means certainly conflicted with Garic's beliefs. The Iridian Order could not stand idly by and watch a madbeast attempt to hurl the world into war.

Kardran looked up, his eyes locking upon the familiar forms of Curian and Harkon. The larger, healer fox was standing with his arms folded over his broad chest, staring down at the smaller, golden fox whose teeth were drawn back in a snarl of fury and offended righteousness. "How DARE you suggest that to me, Harkon!"  
"I merely state what I have observed," The healer replied in an even tempered voice, "Jirik mentioned his orders and we both know he obeys Kirathal to the letter despite his perversions and appetites."

"I don't CARE! This was a fluke, a time when he went too long without a mission and couldn't resist a slaughter! Don't you bring this to me! Don't you ever fucking suggest he'd order that! He's a hero, a savior to you and I!"  
"Curian, I know what he did for you-"

"You know nothing!" Curian snarled, eyes blazing, "They were going to eliminate me…they sent a squadron to execute me…he saved me there, he gave me a purpose when the war was over. He did the same for you!"  
"We've paid our debt." Harkon replied calmly, "A thousand times over."  
"To Lord Frostclaw? Perhaps…to our comrades, to the very spirit of war he represents? To the soldiers who lie dead, buried and forgotten? It will not be enough until we've brought about our war and stopped the injustices." His voice had taken a fanatical tone, "When I die, it will be in a battle, it will be as a true soldier. Toll no bell for me, proclaim my death not! So long as one soldier can be forgotten, then let my body lie where it falls…let the name of Curian Sword-Collector be forgotten, but let Kirathal Frostclaw endure…let him be the hero and the harbinger."

A sad look entered Harkon's eyes and he lowered his head. "I know…I suffered much before he saved me, Curian. I was wrong to have questioned this. Forgive me."

"I won't mention this to him when he gets back…"

"Thank you." Harkon's tone sounded neutral, but Kardran knew a tumultuous struggled raged in the usually passive fox's soul at the moment. "Jirik will be back shortly."

"He went off by himself again!"

"Not far. Hallic was sleeping soundly and Jirik swore to me he wouldn't kill anything or anyone. You know he keeps his word."

"Good," Curian sighed, exhaustion replacing rage. "We need to finish this and get back…"

"In his name." Harkon said softly.

"Always." Curian replied with a nod, "And for what we fight for."

No clarification was necessary

"You are taking too long, Jirik!"

"Patronize me not, Zamaz," Jirik's crimson eyes narrowed, his back pressed flat against the large tree, unable to see the beast he conversed with at the moment who was in a similar situation on the other side of the tree. Despite this, Jirik could see him in his mind as clearly as if Zamaz stood before him at the moment. Jirik comforted himself with the thought of driving knives in Zamaz's thighs at the moment, but the pleasing thought could not be turned into reality. Zamaz possessed a streak of caution that bordered on cowardice and Jirik despised him for that.

"Patronization isn't the case here, Valrik…" The whisper had the feel of a shadow brushing alongside the wind, "He grows impatient…"

"He has waited many decades. He can wait a few more years."

"Hn," Zamaz's voice sounded scornful, "You expect me to convey that message?"

"No," Jirik replied coldly. "I grew too eager yesterday and in my…enthusiasm I left a sizeable amount of beasts dead. Tell him Kirathal has everything underway and I will do all I can to see his plans come to fruition."

"Jirik, the other six are proceeding as usual…our operations in the North go little ways. We are relying on you quite a bit. Don't flatter yourself that all our hopes rest on you, though. They don't."

"I know that. I will have this accomplished, Zamaz…we will stand by to observe power in this coming war."

"And seize it." Jirik could see the smirk form on Zamaz's lips.

"Indeed." Jirik replied with a nod, Differences aside, they were brothers in both this cause and another, more literal sense. "For Chalisin!"  
"For Chalisin…when next we meet you will either be returning in high triumph or you'll be on an executioner's block."

"Don't try to look too jealous when it's the former," Jirik replied, allowing himself a fierce grin, "This is my cause and Kirathal is our valued champion. I will not fail. Give my love to father…"

"He'd never believe you'd say that…"

"Hmph, true…give him my best."

"Very well," There was a rustle of cloth and Jirik knew Zamaz was gone.

Jirik removed himself from the tree and started the trek back to camp. Zamaz's arrival had proven unexpected, moreso that the other killer had managed to track him down. Ah, well…it was as Jirik said.

He'd return to his family in victory. Of course this would be after his lifelong goal of eternal war and rivers of blood turning the world scarlet. And soon, very soon, he'd have an extra bit of fun: Eroket Nightblade. To strip away everything from a beast except desire for revenge always made the kill more satisfying.

Yes, the eternal war and the great power he would wield would, the thousands that would fall before him…he was delighted to think that the death of one ermine who had him so enamored would be the gateway.

He hoped Eroket would feel honored.


	15. Deeper in the shadows

_I just want it to stop…_

_The Pain. The Anguish. The Suffering…tormenting him since he had been so little…the anguish that was synonymous with his very life._

_Is it the blood in my veins? Tell me, Fate! What did I do to deserve this! _

_Blood, crimson, hot and oddly soothing ran down his arm, dulling the pain in a way that made him want to weep. The knife moved again, gashing only a small slit, away from any veins that would have threatened his life._

_He owed his life to Visla, he couldn't throw it away. It had been ten long years in the service of the scarred weasel, years learning to fight and to kill, to survive. _

_The dual-toned eyes narrowed and his fangs pressed together as the agony of decision weighed against him. How many more would die for him in the years to come? Why did he live when his friends and loved ones died at his feet? _

_His mother had been the first, he'd never forgotten her, even if he did things that would horrify her. He'd watched his father grab her, drag her to the window and-_

_He shuddered, the beginnings of a sob escaping him. Pyria, his dear, beloved, older sister; his protector had died protecting him as well, from the assassins Hadras-he would never dignify that two legged snake with the title 'father'- had sent. They had raped and killed her while he had been helpless to interfere. Helpless as the second of many died for him._

_He could see the knife stabbing over and over again into Hadras, stomach, thighs, chest and groin, seeing the shock on the brutal lord's face change to-pride?_

_"You are…what I wanted…my son…" He had rasped, reaching to embrace Taren as death's chariot tore his soul from his body. "I am…so proud…" He had slumped against the young fox then, life leaving in a gurgling sigh._

_The throne was empty, inviting and seductive before him, but with a choked son, the young fox had hurled the knife to the ground and ran, ran from his father's keep and territories, into a new life; as a petty thief._

_He closed his eyes as the veins began to look even more inviting, the knife's edge pressing to them unconsciously…one cut, just one cut; he was good with knife after all…open the veins, watch the blood pour out, then it would be over, it would be over, it would be ov-_

_"Taren…?" A sleepy, female voice, the vague sound of bare flesh sliding on silken sheets as a golden-brown furred paw, seeking the warmth of his body touched only empty space rang in his ears like the winds in a gale. Not now, please not now…don't let me lose my resolve; the pain is about to stop-_

_No words came from his lover's mouth, but he could feel the hard glare of her eyes against his bare back, perhaps clouding with tears, perhaps furious. There were too many possibilities. _

_Sariss was over ten years older than him and indeed had found the fox when he had been a worthless vagabond on the streets and she had taught him to fight, and how to feel again. The difference in age and species meant nothing: He loved her deeply and passionately._

_All who loved him died. He had to spare her this fate…_

_A gentle paw laid itself on his shoulder and he felt her forehead press between his unclad shoulders. "Sariss…" He whispered her name, "Just-"_

_"Just what?" She whispered, voice growing tight with the authority all the soldiers understood so well, "Walk away? Let you kill yourself?"  
"I have to make it stop…the pain-"  
"The pain? Everybeast has pain…" She hissed. "You think about my pain? Or Mahk's? You stop to consider how we'd feel with you dead?"_

_"I just want it to end…" He whispered numbly, blue and red eyes closing._

_"So you die…is your whole life just full of running away?" Her tone had become a near snarl, "You fucking coward!"_

_"Shut up!" That was more than he could endure and he turned, eyes full of blazing fire and chilling ice. "You can't understand! Nobeast can understand! What I've been thr-"_

_She smacked him._

_In all their time today, she had never struck him and instinctively, he dropped the knife and his paw flew to his cheek. Dumb with shock he stared at her, no longer the brilliant young commander, but the frightened child, the scared boy in need of comfort, who sought only to escape his pain._

_Her face was filled not with loathing or hatred, not with anger, but with the most heartbreaking expression of love and concern that he didn't even try to hide his sobs. Warm arms encircled him and held him close as he wept into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He whispered the mantra like it could absolve it._

_"Never do that again…" She whispered, her own voice tight with unshed tears. "You stupid bastard…how could you even think that?"_

_"It hurts so much…"  
"That's the most selfish thing you could do…we all hurt, Taren," She replied softly, "But we don't run away and neither should you."_

_The tears stopped eventually, the strength returned, along with the sick feeling of what he had almost done. "From now on, I'll keep a blade away from me." He tried a weak smile as Sariss shook her head._

_"You poor, poor fool…" Her paws ran over his cut and bleeding arm gently. "Let's fix this up. Taren," She looked him in the eyes, mouth tightening into a line, "If you ever feel pain again, just talk to me. If you ever pull this again, I'll kill you myself."_

_The frightened child inside him was buried now, buried with Sariss…_

_He was the leader, the General, the warrior._

_He was Taren de-Droka. He was Mordath._

_And as he stared out at the stormy seas, arms folded and eyes narrowed in anticipation of the battle he knew would soon approach with Dukat Nidas, he knew that maybe, just maybe, that was all he needed to be._

Falis had been cremated, as befitted a true leader of the Nameless Clan, Edrin and Khorda stood by, their heads bowed to hide the fear and fury they both felt as Falis and the other victims of Jirik Valrik's massacre were put to the torch, watching the flames lick the starry sky.

"This…was horrible." Khorda replied, the rat placing a paw on the hilt of his sword. "No creature with a soul could've done this…Falis, his beasts, those woodlanders…even the kids."

Edrin Namas nodded once, "So, we're dealing with something without one then…you got a name, Eroket?"

His gaze flicked to Eroket Nightblade and Jald Nightson who stood nearby, watching the procession with unreadable expressions. Eroket looked to the fox and nodded, the pain of the child's death fresh in his mind, reflected in his eyes as he nodded and spat the name: "Jirik Valrik…"

"The Reaper," Khorda shook his head and smiled bitterly, "I'm tempted to say we're doomed. He was the one creature feared the most for his bloodlust and cruelty in thenorth. Even down south, he's made a name for himself."

"He can bleed. I've seen him bleed." Jald replied with slow deliberation, "Years ago. If he can bleed, he can die. We can kill him, Khorda."

"It's not just him," Edrin shook his head. "We can only assume they're elites, even if-"

"Leave it to us." Eroket's command was delivered with harsh finality. "You can't afford more soldiers dead, employer."

Khorda frowned. "You two may very well be our last hope…we can't permit you to-"

"Trust us," Eroket replied grimly.

Edrin sighed lightly, guessing correctly that neither Jald nor Eroket would change their plans. "Khorda…" He shook his head. "Let them go."

Eroket nodded once. "You doubt. I can't say I blame you, but this isn't the first time we've been in rough situations." He bowed lightly. "Geras Iridanis will die within the season…we'll learn what we can if we can finish or capture one of this band and report to you…do whatever you can to get us help in the long run."

Edrin didn't know what surprised him more: That Eroket seemed to command him or that the ermine believed what he was saying.

He reclined on the makeshift throne his children had erected for him in the rough hideaway. He would wait one more day, and then he would return to the north. He was tired of waiting for his wayward son to return with news: Already Zamaz was late.

He noted the velvet footfalls before Zamaz emerged from the gloom, dropping to a knee and folding his arms across his chest. Like all his brood, Zamaz possessed jet black fur and crimson eyes, dressed in a simple black mail.

"Rise, Zamaz," He replied, raising a paw. "You are my son, not my slave."

Zamaz stood, but kept his eyes on the floor. "Father…I made contact with your Chosen Blade."

"Indeed…" His voice was calm. "What is his location and condition?"  
"Successful thus far," Zamaz replied with a light shrug, "A few massacres, but you expected that when you assigned him to this…sir," He added quickly.

The elder fox leaned back and turned his head to make out other tall, slim forms beside Zamaz, more of his beloved children, each different, each a brilliant weapon.

"Characterize this…Eroket Nightblade, the ermne who helped to bring about the death of your sister, Vandashira, Zamaz, the one I hear Jirik is so interested in and who causes his 'master' unending grief."

Zamaz frowned, "Father-?" The cautious fox clearly did not understand.

His father smiled lightly. "Zamaz, you are precise, Jirik is brutal. Our beings can be summed up in but a word. Characterize this ermine."

From Zamaz's left, one of the foxes replied suddenly, "Relentless."

The elder Valrik hid a pleased grin. "Good. Now, Geras Iridanis."

Before one of his brothers could reply, Zamaz hissed in contempt, "Arrogant…"

"Relentlessness in moderation is dedication. Arrogance in moderation is self-confidence. Remember this, my children. Anything in excess is dangerous…"

An ebony furred paw wave lightly and the body arose from the throne. "All of you, your assignments here are ended: We leave it in Jirik's paws. In exactly one year, we will meet in the city of Haldrine. If we are successful, you will know. Things continue as they always have."

And they departed into the night, all separate, all heading to the north where each, a Prince of their dark sect of shadows, returned to a group of loyal killers and schemers. The aging Lord Valrik returned to his own domain, the journeys would take the better half of the spring, but by the time they arrived, the news of Jirik and Kirathal's success-or failure- would be known.

As each of the Princes of Shadows returned to continue their machinations under the watchful crimson eye of their father, Jirik Valrik went along with the beast he called his master to plunge the world into war.


	16. Tears of the swords

"Come on, Jald, move it…" Eroket growled low in his throat as he moved through the underbrush at the same brisk pace.

The two mercenaries hadn't stopped for sleep or rest the entire night and from the night of moving through the underbrush, mud and dirt, Eroket was positively filthy, bone-white fur now nearly black from the mud and dirt and rough and coarse from lack of care, his clothes ripped and torn and he bled in several places from where sharp twigs had torn at him; Eroket had simply placed mud upon the wounds and moved on.

It was hard to tell the state of Jald from a simple glance, the mud and dirt seemed to be invisible upon the large ferret's ebon fur, but Eroket knew Jald was suffering no exhaustion, the ferret much more accustomed to these more difficult areas then his. Eroket, to his credit, much preferred his clothing to remain immaculate and fur well groomed, but upon this mission, there was no time for private vanity, no time for concern, no time for any sort of personal frippery; they would find the Ice Wolves and kill them.

Eroket would prove to Kirathal Frostclaw who the best truly was and send Jirik Valrik's ugly soul back to whatever hells had spawned it.

Jald raised a paw to signal a stop and knelt upon the ground, running a claw over the earth. "Bent plants, slight tracks, but almost obliterated completed…there's still some here, though." He raised his head to Eroket, "Ero, the size of the way somebeast wanted to take out these tracks suggest Hallic Thargo...he's the only weasel large enough to warrant something like this per pace."

Eroket shrugged lightly, "Hm," he replied evenly, "I don't care who it is, just point me in their direction, Jald."

Jald bit back a sigh, a retort, a patronizing comment, he didn't know what and instead replied, "Eroket, are you sure this is a good idea? We refused backup, we're going at about five beasts and we hardly know-"

"No, I'm not sure," Eroket snapped peevishly, seemingly on his last nerve, "I'm just sure that I want to find and kill the Ice Wolves!"

"Makes two of us, but refusing any sort of aid?"  
"They'd only hold us back; we've achieved much harder, Jald."

"We've never been against Ice Wolves."

"You said it yourself, Nightson," Eroket said evenly, "They bleed, they'll die."

Jald sighed lightly and simply nodded. He was conflicted enough on this subject without continuous issues and arguments. He knew Eroket's idea was bad, knew it would probably get them both killed, but-how many times had Aleran had a similar idea and the two of them had walked out, not just with their lives, but accomplishing everything they had desired? For a reason Jald could not explain, Jald would follow Eroket, whether to victory or death, he was uncertain.

The two mercenary warriors, the Manticore and the son of his dearest comrade continued their hunt for the Ice Wolves.

----

Harkon was meditating; the large red fox sat at the base of a tree, arms folded across his broad chest and his eyes closed, shoulders rising and falling with the careful rhythm of his breath.

Kardran envied the ability to slip out of reality in favor of calm peace. At times he could scarcely believe Harkon was of the Ice Wolves and a comrade of the savage Jirik, but Curian had assured him of the red fox's prowess in battle, excelling in paw to paw combat. Kardran found himself liking both Harkon and Curian and inwardly, the Iridian otter hoped they would be spared of death when Kirathal's ambitions came crashing down.

Hallic was sleeping, the brute also leaning against a tree, head lowered and eyes closed, massive trident in his lap. Jirik had gone off to prowl the forests, accompanied and watched closely by the Sword Collector. After the last…incident, Curian's trust of Jirik-what little there was to start- was completely eroded. Jirik, for his part, accepted Curian's company with sardonic pleasure and indifference, leaving Kardran with the other three.

Something just didn't feel right to him. Granted, when one is forced to give up one's identity, masquerade as a criminal aid to a beast such as Jirik and travel with the most brutal killer he had ever met, little could be thought of as 'right.' However, something felt less right.

His ear twitched lightly as he heard something moving through the underbrush into the camp. "Curian? Jirik?"

A footstep halted, as if a beast had stiffened. No, not Curian and Jirik, definitely not. His paw went for his sword, whirling around and half drawing it, ready to do what he had to.

In response, the tip of a schianova stared him in the face, accompanied by blazing amber eyes, locked in an expression of rage.

Kardran-or Garic- instantly understood how this beast had recognized him.

"You." The voice was tight and the word a sibilant hiss from the ermine. "Drop it."

Kardran obeyed, paw opening and his blade fell to the earth inaudibly, not daring to make a sudden move. He recognized this ermine, the amber eyes…the slaughter so many years ago.

The slaughter he himself had led.

"Commander Nightblade…" His voice was toneless.

"Commander Garic Riverblade," Nightblade's voice held no hatred, the rage appeared to have passed, "I didn't figure you for an Ice Wolf. Stupid pawn, maybe. Ice Wolf? No."

Garic's teeth gritted and he swallowed his pride, "Insult me all you like, Nightblade. Or kill me and get it over with."

"Lovely idea," The ermine replied, never taking his eyes from Garic's. "Afraid I can't oblige. I'm going to assume we have the same agenda: Stopping Frostclaw."

"Originally it was spying on Iridanis's predecessor, but the circumstances…changed."

"I figured." The ermine replied calmly. "This leaves me in a dilemma. I can't really hold the death of men against you, I've avenged them a long time ago: However, that doesn't mean I have to like you or trust you and your little acting role may require more convincing, which could be giving me and Jald over to your compatriots."

"Jald Nightson?" Kardran tried to glance over at Harkon and Hallic, praying Curian and Jirik were busy wherever they were; if they arrived now, there could be a slaughter.

"Yeah, you may've heard about us taking apart Crimson Tears one operation at a time over the last year or so."

"You should've seen Geras sweat," Garic answered with a half smile.

"I'd rather see him bleed." Eroket responded dryly; Garic almost laughed and Eroket replied. "Yeah, Jald's out there somewhere, watching us. He'll alert me if anything goes on."

"What are you planning then, Eroket Nightblade?"  
"Originally, I was going to kill you and then slit their throats while they slept then ambush the other two whenever they got back."

"How mercenary," Garic grunted with a trace of distaste."

"Effective," Eroket corrected gently. "Objections?"

"Not with Hallic. With the fox, yes."

"Do tell."

"He's not a bad creature, Nightblade. Neither is the Sword Collector. They're both honorable and they really believe in-" He stopped as Eroket's sword moved closer to his throat.

"I'm touched," Eroket Nightblade hissed. "Those 'honorable' creatures butchered innocents. Those honorable creatures cut a mouse who was probably just old enough to walk in half in front of me."

"That was Jirik…Curian and Harkon, didn't approve," Garic tilted his head back, attempting to avoid cutting himself with his very breathing, "They're not like him."

For a moment the ermine was silent. "I'll see what I can do."

Garic wanted to thank the ermine as the sword withdrew, a paw flying to his throat but as he tilted his head down, the last thing he saw was the hilt of the schianova flying at him face. Then there were stars and colored lights. Then there was darkness.

--

Eroket caught the otter before he fell and lowered him to the ground gently, making it appear as if he were just sleeping like the others, whispering to himself, "One down."

He raised a paw, a 'wait' signal to Jald, and walked slowly to out of the clearing the Ice Wolves had made, suddenly freezing as he heard the herald of approach: footsteps: Steps belonging to two beasts.

He reflected to what Garic had said, that the other weren't 'bad creatures.' Bad blood or not, Eroket knew he'd shed it all the same if they got in his way.

He saw the golden fox, the walking armory emerge first, managing to duck into the darkness before he was spotted.

Then he saw the demon. Jirik was dressed in a night-black cloak and hood, crimson eyes piercing the darkness and Eroket felt a chill as if Jirik had indeed spotted him.

"Wake up, brute." Jirik's voice growled and then a sharp kick followed by a growl of protest.

Curian's voice was admonishing. "All of you asleep. Disgraceful, Hallic."

Another grunt followed by a growl.

Eroket could have sworn he heard a pause before Jirik's voice sounded. "I should open your neck for that…"

Curian sounded irritated. "Jirik, stop suggesting death for every small thing, you'll get your fill soon enough. Go get the supplies. We're in no worse a position than Serion at the gates."

Something rang suddenly and horribly wrong.

Before Eroket knew what was happening, a fist crashed into his skull and the ground met him. He scrambled on his back swiftly, looking up to see Jirik Valrik's savage grin. "So soon we meet again, little Nightblade."

The rasp of a sword clearing its sheath from beneath that curtain of night echoed in the darkness. "Hello and goodbye!"

A shadow crossed Eroket vision, slamming into the black fox, disarming him with a twist of a paw and slamming an elbow into his jaw. With a snarl, Jirik fell back, scrambling back and to his foot in an undignified manner. "Son of the Night!"

Jald Nightson kicked Ero's schianova towards him and the ermine seized it quickly, pulling himself up as Jirik righted himself, crimson eyes blazing in fury. "You laid paws on me. This is a new cloak, too! For that, I'm going to feed you your eyes!"

Jald's teeth bared in a savage grin as Eroket sprang up beside him. The Manticore's eyes swept over the four beasts, three of them Ice Wolves. "Curian. Harkon."

"For old times' sake, Jald, put the sword down," Curian replied, drawing one of his own as Harkon lowered himself into a fighting crouch. "We don't want to kill you, old comrade."

"Speak for yourself," Jirik hissed, staring at the black ferret hatefully. Eroket felt an odd rush of elation: Jald had just proven Jirik Valrik was as susceptible to injury and surprise attack as he.

Jald shook his head. "You know I can't do that, Curian."

"Why! For some trite idea of justice!"

"Something like that," Jald answered with a shrug and a smirk, twirling his sword. "How did you know where Ero was anyways."

"That would be me."

The growling, but intelligible voice caused both Eroket and Jald to stare in shock at Hallic Thargo. Even Curian and Harkon looked taken aback.

The massive weasel just grinned, revealing his filed teeth as his booming voice rang out in a chuckle. "If it's big, it's stupid, right? Thankfully Jirik looked past this stereotype…we even developed our own little code for it. You'd be amazed what you can do when beasts think you're an idiot," The grin turned mocking, "No beast even thought I could fake something like sleep."

Jald managed a smile, "Lovely deception. Smart or stupid, my sword'll cut you all the same. Eroket…run."

The ferret and ermine whirled and instantly took off into the foliage.

For a moment Curian gaped before he whirled on the others and issued his orders, "Harkon, Hallic! You two wait here! If only one of us comes back or neither returns in an hour, take Kardran and go back north. Jirik, you're with me and we're after them."

Neither Hallic nor Harkon could move fast through the trees thanks to their sheer bulk and mass and Kardran, now that he looked, was unconscious…Hallic seemed to be staring at the otter with loathing now. The brute-or not, Curian thought, still with a twinge of shock, seemed to have his reasons. "Harkon, you're in charge." He added quickly before taking off, the enraged son of House Valrik at his heels.

---

Eroket Nightblade and Jald Nightson had split up early, an effort to draw their pursuers apart, too, and now Eroket Nightblade crouched behind a tree, listening for the approach of footfalls, of pursuers.

He only heard two and the sound indicated Jirik and Curian…one of them the beast he wanted dead the most. This suited him just fine.

A dagger appeared in his paw and he waited until the thunderous sound had passed his tree before he whirled out, paw snapping and the dagger flying. Eroket waited for the bite of the dagger before swearing viciously as it bounced off with a metallic clang, right off one of Curian's swords.

Curian stopped and whirled, "Jirik! The Nightblade brat!"

Jirik managed to stop and turned as well, drawing his sword with a swift motion, fangs baring in a savage grin, "Third time's a charm, Nightblade boy..."

Eroket stepped back, sword at ready, remembering Jald's lessons- back against a tree, try to keep them separate, run for your life if you can…they'd be expecting the latter, so that was out…he'd die very fast with his back against a tree and trying to keep them separate? He wished Jald were here, but he was probably…

Probably facing the other two. He may've been dead…he couldn't be dead, he was Jald Nightson! No two of ANYTHING could kill him!

"So, both at once then?" Eroket growled, "That the honor your master preaches?"

Jirik's eyes flickered in amusement and he began to laugh. Curian did not. "Honor? I hope you're not so naïve, Night-"

"No, Curian, this might be enjoyable…give him his honor," Jirik smirked. "We should try to be fair about the affair."

"Mercy from you, Valrik?"

"I just don't want him dying thinking he had a chance." Jirik shrugged and leaned back.

Curian shrugged and stepped forward, choosing a single, straight sword. "Very well then. Nightblade, if you win, you go free. You lose, I take your head here. Agreed?"

"Agreed…"

"I am Curian the Sword Hunter!" The golden fox cried suddenly, twirling his sword up, "The Golden Wolf, saved from death by Kirathal Frostclaw! Those who seek to destroy my master's dream I will destroy with no mercy!"

Eroket met the challenge, "I am Eroket Nightblade, son of Aleran Nightblade, pupil of Jald Nightson and avenger of the Calpathions! By the soul the peace my father fought for, I will never permit the chaos of the Unification Wars to be brought to the world!"

"You speak big! NOW BACK IT UP!" Curian was upon him, sword flashing. Feint right, strike left!

Eroket had been shown the move and its counter by Kalis long ago, tensing of opponent's leg, sword down, twirl to block, slide along the blade into your opponent's heart!

Curian must have known the move as well. With a jerk of raw power, he swung the sword back to the right, ruining the thrust and brought the sword back in an arc meant to decapitate his younger opponent.

Eroket ducked and struck as Curian's momentum carried him forward, gouging him in the side. Curian hardly even flinched as he jumped back.

The whelp had scored first blood on him. He was indeed his father's son.

Eroket brought his sword in a ready position as he and Curian met once more, steel flashing at steel as Curian sought to claim an advantage and found not a trace of an opening, not a weakness to exploit.

This kid was good, he realized as he was again sent back by another deeper cut along the ribs, clapping a paw to the wound. He was good…much better than Curian…he was even holding back, the golden fox realized with shock.

"Curian, I'm getting embarrassed just watching you…you're supposed to rival Tethik."

"Shut up, Jirik!" Curian growled, holding his blade in front of him. The black fox laughed.

"Can't you even kill the kid? Honestly, Kirath'd be disappointed in you! As opposed to me when I've followed his order to the letter…"

The battle light faded from Curian's eyes and the sword lowered, almost slipping from his paws, a half whispered word, almost a denial slipped from Curian's lips. "What…? But, that…that…"

"Oh, that…the kid? The little village? All orders: "Kill everything and everyone you come across."…is there a problem? You said it yourself: There are causalities in every war…"

"You're lying!" The golden fox practically screamed. Eroket didn't strike him. He had the perfect chance, a part of Curian's brain realized, "YOU'RE LYING!"  
"We've been over this, Curian, I don't lie." The mouth twisted into a savage grin, revealing the pearly fangs, "I just…followed his ord-"

With a scream, Curian whirled and ran at Jirik. Jirik met him halfway. They collided and Curian's mouth dropped open, Jirik's locked in demonic glee and pleasure. Eroket saw his arm twist.

When they parted, Jirik was no longer holding his sword: He'd left it in Curian's stomach. He walked over to the shocked golden fox, put a paw on the hilt and without a care for the other fox's safety, ripped the sword out. Eroket could see the wound was mortal-and a gut wound, one of the most agonizing ways to die.

"I've wanted to do that for years." Jirik kicked Curian's prone figure, smirking. "Well, Eroket, the duel is yours by default. Love to Jald, see you soon. I'll leave the Iridian for you, it'd be too boring to fight just two…three may make it more fun." He smiled again. "And Curian? Know how much Kirath appreciates your loyalty…? He'll never notice you're gone." Jirik turn and ran, off into the foliage, into the night.

Eroket suddenly remembered he could move and was at the golden fox's side in seconds.

"All…a lie…" The fox whispered; his eyes were shut tight, tears trickling down his cheeks. "None of it was real…All I fought for…"

Eroket wished he could think of comforting words, but he couldn't find the strength to speak. Blinking strangely wet eyes, he reached out and took hold of Curian's paw.

The golden fox stirred lightly and looked at Eroket, "Nightblade…Kirathal's plan…he and Geras convinced Nidas…Wavelord…to loan them a fleet…going to attack Calishan and Gair…start a war…it'll spread…"

Eroket nodded once, "Curian…"

"Don't try to comfort me…I'm dying…you'd only insult me…everything I believed was a lie…" He shook his head, blood leaking from his wounds, "Promise me something…"

"What is it?"

"Bury me with my swords…they were my only friends for years…I couldn't stand to part with them…and Nightblade…don't lose yourself like I did…" He stared at Eroket, a strange clearness settling over his eyes, "Not a monster…like Jirik…or Kirathal…and please…kill me. It'll take a long time otherwise…Make what I dreamed of…a world where soldiers can live without fear, be honored for what they are…a truth."

Eroket didn't argue. He'd done this more than once, when a comrade lay on the battlefield mortally wounded or unable to move, with your sword you rescued him from your enemy's clutches. He didn't argue, didn't protest. He took a dagger and pressed it to Curian's throat. The golden fox tilted his head back.

"May Dark Forest welcome you," Eroket said.

He cut.


	17. The Last War begins

Jald found Eroket by the corpse of Curian Silak, the golden fox's eyes closed in death. A bloody slash had been cut into the fox's throat like a second mouth. His expression was one of anguished sorrow, the expression of a beast who had died after seeing every one of his dreams crushed, his hopes destroyed. Jald had often seen this expression, he'd seen it on many a face as his sword drove into the body of his victims.

He repressed a shudder at the memory that he enjoyed that look once and looked to Ero, who had dropped his bloody dagger as if the hilt had grown to red-hot heat.

Eroket's voice came out in a soft whisper, "I didn't want to leave him. He told me to kill him, to bury his swords with him…"

Jald nodded once and walked to his friend's side, pressing a hand to Eroket's shoulder and giving it a light squeeze, kneeling down and removed two gold coins from the pouch on his belt, placing one upon Curian's right eye and one upon his left. "Find your way to the Dark Forest safely, old friend," The ferret whispered.

Eroket's canines bit into his bottom lip as he looked up to Jald, for a moment his lifetime in the underworld as an assassin fell away, revealing the visage of a frightened boy who didn't know what to do. Sometimes, Jald reflected, he forgot how young Eroket really was.

"We can't stay," Jald replied slowly and Eroket looked up, shock in his eyes.

"Are you mad? Of course we ca-"

"Don't argue. Don't speak. Curian would understand. Jirik and the others are on the road back to Kirathal and we have to stop them. Burying Curian could take hours and we don't have hours to spare. Curian was a soldier and a soldier's life is sacrifice for the common cause. You know this."

Eroket's teeth ground and his fists clenched, his eyes flaring for a moment before all the anger left him and his eyes closed, fingers limply uncurling and his head lowering, his voice muted as he replied, "Let's go then…before I changed my mind. It never gets easier…First Kalis, and then Deran…it never gets easier!" He snarled, seizing his bloody dagger and removing the blood with a wipe of his cloak, replacing the blade in its sheath. "If I was going to kill Jirik Valrik for this before, now I'm going to tear him apart with my bare damned paws!" He snarled and rose to his feet. "Let's get to their camp. You remember the way? They may've left some clues."

Jald nodded and without another word, turned and ran into the forest, Eroket hot on his heels.

----

Garic Riverblade lay unconscious in the midst of the abandoned camp of the Ice Wolves, a huge mark on the back of his head. His body had been stripped of weapons and armor, it seemed, leaving him in only rough traveling clothes.

Eroket swore lightly, "Looks like Jirik and the others got out of here in a hurry…" He folded his arms and walked to Garic, kneeling by the motionless otter before pressing two fingers to his neck and looking up to Jald, "He's alive. Just got knocked out. Looks like he was hit by a damn club."

Jald's mouth formed a mirthless smile, "That'd be Hallic's fists at work. Even if he's not an idiot, I doubt he was faking his strength."

Eroket shrugged and bit his lip, "He may have a concussion. Waking him up could be dangerous and we don't have time to spa-"

"Not for the dead. The living are another matter," Jald corrected, kneeling by the unconscious Iridian. Moments later, Garic moaned lightly and stirred, opening his eyes and looking around. "Wh-wh-?"  
"Try to stay still," Eroket cautioned, taking Jald's waterskin and gently pressing it to the otter's lips. "Just a few drops, sip slow."

After the otter had a chance to wet his mouth, Eroket passed the waterskin back to Jald and looked to Garic, "Your head hurt?"

"I have a headache the size of Mossflower, but aside from that? Nothing."

Eroket nodded and replied, "Any chance of knowing what happened?"

"After YOU knocked me out and Jirik came back and woke me up…He and Hallic wanted to kill me, but Hardran wouldn't have it. He said we'd been companions and I deserved some mercy for that," He growled, "Hallic took my weapons and knocked me out. From what I can guess, they're heading back to Calishan. That's all I know. My mission is over…"

Garic sat up slowly, burying his head in his paws, "There's nothing left now…even if we kill Hallic and Jirik, Kirathal will just bring down Nidas's forces…they'll destroy Calishan and attack whatever else. Kirathal's dream will come true…"

"Not yet," Jald snarled, "He can get a few wars here, but that's hardly eternal or perpetual. Kirathal's a fish in a big pond. We can-"

"You don't understand!" Garic cried, turning to face the ferret, "This is just the start! Kirathal already has something going in the north. I heard him and Jirik talking about it one night…"

Jald bit his lip, "The north…? It still hasn't recovered from the Unification Wars…and with Snowshadow's recent issue with Vandashira it's even more fragile."

Garic nodded, "And there's something behind the corsair attack, there has to be."

"Think, dammit!" Eroket yelled, causing Garic to wince and put a paw to his head, "Isn't there anything we can do!"

"The Iridians…" Garic replied quickly, then shook his head, "But that's a wild card. They may not even come…"

"What? Speak slowly now…" Eroket replied, leaning close to Garic, "What about your people?"

Garic looked to Eroket seriously and sighed, "The Iridian fleet is fast and damn strong and that's not me bragging…but now that the mission is failed and my cover's blown, I don't know how to send a message, if it'll reach them in time, if they'll get here in time."

"How much time do we have, Garic?" Eroket asked.

"I don't know. We can't have more than a few weeks."

Eroket looked to Jald who shrugged and then back to Garic. "Fine then, Commander Riverblade…that just means we'll have to count on a bit of luck and speed. Can you keep up with us?"

"I-what?" Garic raised an eyebrow, "Are you-?"

"Yeah, it's an offer, take it or leave it," Eroket growled, "I've already told you I don't have ill will. Albeit your intelligence is still in question, but if you have a warrior order that we can use then fine." He looked back to Jald and then to Garic once more, "We have to make it for the next town and rent a really fast bird to carry a message. After that, we need to get back to Calishan."

Jald nodded, pressing a paw to his sword hilt, "that means we're relying on luck and these otters' reliability. I for one have my doubts."

"Got a better idea!" Eroket growled to Jald, "The Nameless Clan will move for us, but they don't have nearly enough numbers or strength to fight both Nidas's fleet and Crimson Tears. At the very least…we have to kill Jirik, Kirath and Geras. If we cut off the heads, the body could follow. Geras is bound to have lieutenants who won't agree with his plans and without Kirath the plan can collapse. That's our objective. By the way, Garic, you need me to loan you a dagger?"

"My main skill's with paw to paw," The otter replied with a light smile, "But I could make do with a dagger." Eroket nodded and passed the blade to him.

Eroket rose. "The Nameless Clan territory is on the way. If we're lucky we can grab a messenger from them…and then to Calishan."

Jald Nightson watched the newest addition to their group with light interest and smiled. "Alright then…if this be our last job, let's make it a good one."

Eroket Nightblade looked to Garic Riverblade, "No matter our past, if we work together on this you're our comrade. Stopping Kirathal is paramount and if you're helping, then I've got no problems with it."

"You're not the only beast with something to lose on this and you two aren't the only ones who'd give your lives to stop an eternal war. My people died in the Unification Wars too. I'll be damned if I see their sacrifices brought to nothing." Garic Riverblade's dark eyes held no hesitance, no fear: Only hard commitment and dedication, a look both Jald and Eroket knew and respected.

"Well, then, comrades," Jald Nightson replied, "Back to Calishan."

Eroket's amber eyes narrowed and he smiled, "If the wolves want a final fight, let's give it to them."

There were no objections.


	18. The broken demon

Kirathal Frostclaw felt cold.

An uneasy feeling tore into his gut and twisted his stomach into a knot. His eyes widened for a moment and his teeth clenched as cold sweat beaded on his brow. He was alone for the moment, completely, which was rare these days, sat back in his simple room, sword close at paw in case an ambitious beast of Crimson Tears or Tethik decided to try anything.

His Ice Wolves…what had happened to Harkon, Curian and Jirik? Something was wrong, he knew it. Something had happened to HIS Ice Wolves!

Curian, Harkon, Jirik…their names and their faces ran through his mind again and again. They'd been with him so long, they were loyal, they were his loyal retainers, the soldiers who had chosen to follow him into hell if need be. They could be injured, they could be dead!

He knew it was a possibility, he knew they would all die one day, in the way they were always meant to, but this, this feeling filled him with unease and dread. Were his comrades, those he had been with for years…He had come this far with their help, survived thanks to Harkon and Kallia, won his victories with the help of Jirik, Curian and Tethik. For the first time in many years, Kirathal realized the possibility of being forced to carry on without his Ice Wolves.

"Nightblade…Jald…" He whispered, fist clenching, a strange emotion enveloping him, hot in his heart. There was no room for hatred and anger in a soldier, he had always said.

But as, for the first time, Kirath considered facing the future without his Ice Wolves, Kirath could hardly suppress either.

I will defeat Eroket Nightblade.

I am the ultimate warrior.

I am better than Jald Nightson, Kirathal Frostclaw, Aleran Nightblade…none may stand against me.

I have paid a face for my arrogance.

I made mistakes. I will make no more.

I am Juska, we pay our debts in blood.

I am mercenary and assassin, we let no insult go unpunished.

I am Davrag Joris.

The mantra rang in his head as he whirled and slashed, blades clanging against Arredon's own swords, driving the younger stoat back.

Youthful face contorted in concentration, Arredon Toroth blocked and countered best he could, but against his teacher and mentor it was a losing battle.

Moments later, when Arredon moved to collect his fallen blades, he rubbed his right paw, smiling, "Excellent as always, sir."  
Davrag allowed himself a smile and gave Arredon a pat to the head. "Not so bad yourself, my dear Arredon."

Arredon practically beamed at his mentor's praise, replacing his swords in their sheaths and smoothing down his rumpled shirt, "Sir?"

"Hm?"  
Arredon's voice took a questioning tone, "When will you kill Eroket Nightblade?"

The question caught him totally off guard and for a moment he was too stunned to answer. He had thought of actually defeating the ermine for so long, the 'when' and 'how' had never really occurred to him. Catching his thoughts quickly, he offered a response sternly: "Soon."

"If I may say, Lord, you have been most uneasy lately. Is there something on your mind?"  
Davrag's amber eyes narrowed harshly and his voice came out in a low growl, "When I feel the need to allow you entry to my innermost thoughts, rest assured, child, you will be among the first to know. You may leave now."

An expression of terrible hurt flashed in Arredon's eyes for a moment before he forced a smile and nodded hastily, "Of course, Lord, my…sincerest apologies." The young stoat bowed hastily and departed.

Davrag froze in his tracks, shaking his head and growling, "No…no, that wasn't how I meant it…you know I didn't mean that, Arredon…"

Of course, his voice didn't carry to reach his protégé and Davrag sighed deeply, rubbing his head, "What am I becoming?"

"Maybe you're on your way to becoming the best, mm?" The voice rang through the room and Davrag looked up to see Kirathal Frostclaw, shirtless, wearing his sword at his hip leaning against the wall. He hadn't even heard Kirath enter. Perhaps he was too distracted with his own thoughts or perhaps that damned fox was just that good.

"What the hell do you mean?" Davrag fixed his baleful gaze upon the white fox but Kirathal only smiled.

Something was odd about the fox's demeanor. He still had that blasted smirk, but his swagger was gone, the light of arrogance was replaced by something very faint in those blue eyes. Grief? Worry? It couldn't be.

"I learned the truth long ago, Joris," Kirathal replied evenly, "I was Serion Redfletch's best student, he was like a father to me, really."

"What, did you kill your real father?" Davrag hoped to provoke the white fox and maybe pay him back to a small degree for their last meeting.

"Why, no," Kirathal seemed oddly pleased, "In fact…no beast every really asks me about my parents, I'm surprised you had the audacity to. Even my dear Kallia won't. To most, I'm the guy with a sword who gets things done. See, it's a funny story: To put it real bluntly, daddy couldn't pay a tax to some warlords, so some soldiers dragged us out, broke some legs and let us to freeze in the snow. My father tore his wrist with his teeth and warmed me with his own blood. When he died and the blood got cold, I used my claws to rip a hole in him and stayed warm there. Serion Refletch found me a day later, barely alive."

What unnerved Davrag the most was that Kirathal said this in a tone that may as well have been: "I was hungry, ate dinner. Got cold, put on a shirt."

"No wonder you're so fucked up." Davrag offered a cold smile and Kirathal matched it.

"Well, at least I'm not a spoiled little brat who can't get his head on straight."

"Say that again," Davrag snarled suddenly, teeth baring, "What am I?"

"You wanna be the best, Davrag? Fine, go ahead and kill Nightblade, kill Jald, make yourself the perfect warrior just like I did. But you can't give a damn about anything, you can't care if millions die," Kirathal chuckled lightly, "You'll have to kill that boy one day if you pursue this path to glory."

Davrag could find no words.

"But," Kirathal continued, "What if you can? That boy'll rival you one day, Joris, he may get better and no beast is better than the best. No beast, save me."

"You talk a lot, Frostclaw," Davrag retorted coolly, composure regained, "Nightblade'll come back and he'll kill you dead. You should never have let him live."

"Oh, maybe I shouldn't have, but no matter what happens, my plan'll succeed. Thanks to Damascus's Legacy, to Geras's nice little network and some good old fashioned mass-slaughter, I'll have my wars. You think you have any place? HAH! You don't know what you are anymore!" Kirathal laughed harshly, "Not a mercenary anymore, not an assassin, you don't have a code of a warrior and you're too broken to be a fighter. You're a hollow shell of a boy who never grew up, who sees too much of himself in that little protégé of his, who can't even admit his own-"

"Shut up."

Kirathal expected a scream or a shrieking retort but the calm, matter of fact command caught him off guard.

"You think you're fooling me? I can see it in your eyes: You know Nightblade is coming back and you're worried for your fighters. The ones you trained and fought with, your comrades. You can't even live up to your own ideal and you don't even expect to live to see your new era. I have my reasons for being how I am, Frostclaw and I will not explain them to you. No Serion saved me from the cold, no trusted Ice Wolves backed me up. I started out alone, but I'm not alone anymore and unlike you I won't pretend to be."

Kirath Frostclaw bowed, "Then you're already broken if one battle changes your outcome on life." With a smile, he turned and left the room.

Davrag Joris calmly collected his things. "Hurry up, Nightblade, I need my answer…Was I right or are you? Am I really a shell or am I something new? Only you can tell me with your sword…"

The Night did not answer him. All he could do was wait for it to send its sword.


	19. Lord of War, specter of Death

It felt odd to see Calishan again, Jirik had to admit. It felt like he had been away so much longer; an eternity, really.

Well, all good things must come to an end, he reflected with a light sigh, throwing a smile at Harkon and Hallic, "Home again?"

Hallic gave a noncommittal grunt and Jirik almost applauded. The weasel's acting skills were certainly incredibly. Harkon was silent, staring ahead and doing his hardest not to look at Jirik. Jirik bit back the urge to laugh in his comrade's face; Harkon could take it badly and attack him, Jirik would be forced to kill him and one dead teammate a year seemed enough as far as what Kirath might tolerate.

Hallic's red eyes narrowed as if he could read Jirik's mind-or maybe he was just anticipating one of Jirik's customary 'outbursts.' Jirik smiled in return, feeling better than he had in years.

How he had hated Curian, that simpering, stupid sycophant. Always looking down his nose at Jirik, almost disdaining his methods, almost clinging to some outdated notions of nobility and honor. What did he think war was? Jirik couldn't believe some beasts couldn't grasp a concept as simple as 'kill.'

Jirik looked ahead to Calishan and grinned fiercely, "Lord Kirathal will want to hear what happened."

"You can tell him, Jirik. I'd rather meditate when we get back," Harkon replied calmly, folding his arms behind his back, "Hallic?"  
Hallic shrugged and growled, "See Davrag, Arithia and Geras."

"Fair enough," Jirik smiled, signing subtly out of Harkon's vision: "Will they all survive""

The ghost of a smile hovered on Hallic's lips as he signed back: "Davrag shouldn't die thinking he ever had a chance."

Truly, Jirik liked the savage. He looked to Harkon, "It's not a total loss…Curian knew the risks."

Harkon gave him a look of fury in response and Jirik was momentarily taken aback. Oh, Jirik thought, he knows. Well, Harkon, perhaps I'll make sure you don't survive the coming battle. You were always just a slightly less irritation than Curian.

Harkon's growl interrupted his homicidal musings: "I'm heading off. You two can make your report."

Before Jirik could respond, Harkon stalked off. Jirik's paw itched to hurl a dagger between those shoulders, to hear the scream, see the blood, the shocked expression, the widened eyes before he tore them out, yes-

He caught a hold of himself quickly. Now was not the time or the place.

"Well, Hallic, it's been amusing, but now I believe we should go our separate ways. Give 'pitiful Davrag' my regards when you decide to carve him up."

The savage was smiling when Jirik left. Truly, a creature Jirik liked.

----

"Kirathal! Kirathal!"

Kirathal opened an eye and stood from his chair as Kallia drew closer to him, putting a paw on the hilt of her sword. Kirath waves a paw to her, "Nevermind, Kallia…it's Jirik."

"I know." She replied, narrowing her eyes.

Kirath smirked, "Yes, good point…either way, he deserves to be heard out. Admit him."

Kallia nodded once and exited the room. A moment later, Jirik walked in and bowed from the waist, "My lord."

"Jirik," Kirath replies, sitting back, paw on the hilt of his own blade, despite the fact Jirik was unarmed. "Tell me everything."

Jirik smiled thinly, "First we took a step, then another and-"

"Jirik, do not be flip, I am in no mood."

"Fine, fine, fine…One of the Nameless Clan heads is dead. Some…ferret, I think. I lost track."

"How many did you kill exactly?" Kirathal arched an eyebrow and Jirik shrugged as if embarrassed."

"Well, wasn't really keeping score, over twenty, under a hundred?"

Kirath rolled his eyes, "Whatever…Eroket and Jald?"

"Alive. Kardran was a traitor, he's joined them."

Kirath simply shrugged, "Kardran I could care less about. What of Harkon and Curian."

"Nightblade killed Curian."

Kirathal's eyes closed and his teeth ground together, fists clenching. For a moment, the beginnings of a snarl formed on Kirathal's lips before he allowed himself to relax, speaking tonelessly. "He died a true soldier. He will be remembered with honor."

"All due him, I'm sure. I left Nightblade alive. He and the others are coming here. As far as I know, alone. But I wouldn't doubt they could pick up some reinforcements…pretty much confirmed Kardran was one of those irritating Iridian otters."

Kirath nodded, unusually quiet and reserved for hearing about an upcoming battle. "Good…maybe they'll show up and give this battle some extra fun."

"Indeed…"

"What else is there Jirik?"

Jirik glanced to the door, Kirath sighed, "We're alone, and noone listens in."

Jirik grinned lightly, "Indeed...Father decided to check progress."

Kirath looked taken aback for a moment, "I see…did he make any intentions clear?"

"He just wished us the best of luck."

"Damned Valrik," Kirath growled and shook his head, "No offense."

Jirik grinned ferally, "Oh, none taken. I'd happily slit all my brothers open, and my loving parents too."

"Regardless, if they're involved, it's best to be careful…Valrik ambition could be a factor to hinder us."

"Don't even worry about that. Father promised not to interfere."

Kirath shrugged. "Whatever. As for other factors, did you meet Eroket yourself?"

Jirik grinned, "We had a moment."

"He wants to kill you, doesn't he?"  
"I don't think that adequately sums it up. He'll come for me."

"You want first shot at him? What I said earlier still applies: If you kill him, he wasn't worth it."

"Oh, that's so generous of you, Lord! Yes, yes, of course!" Jirik's red eyes filled with lust for a moment.

Kirath watched him calmly, "Excited?"

"How often is one facing eternal war?"

Kirath laughed suddenly and stood. "You're quite right, Jirik! Start the preparations, get the others ready. Save some Damascus Flame, too, we'll probably need that."

Jirik bowed again, matching his master grin for grin. "How soon? How soon until the Corsairs arrive?"

"Days, if that. The same time it'd take for Iridians to arrive too, if what you said's correct." Kirath tapped a claw to his chin, "That Davrag creature's been improving himself too."

"Nightblade's a popular kid, noticing that?"

"Undoubtedly," Kirath smiled, eyes gleaming. "Jirik Valrik, loyal soldier..."

"Kirathal Frostclaw, great general!" Jirik answered, bloodlust transcending into fanaticism.

Kirath brought a paw up and clenched it into a fist. Curian was gone, yes, but his sacrifice would never be for naught in Kirathal Frostclaw's eyes. "This is war…it means we can go to war again! The last and greatest war, our final testament, the age of soldiers."

"Our kingdom of corpses!" Jirik began to laugh. To Kirathal's light surprise, so did he.

Their laughter, that of the Kirathal Frostclaw and Jirik Valrik, laughter of the Ice Wolves mingled together, rose out over the city and the sea, bringing the tidings of war, and its follower, the pitiless specter of death.


	20. Onwards

Jald Nightson leaned against a tree, breathing heavily. Day after day of running straight with hardly any rest, food, or water had left him breathless and exhausted, barely able to continue. What had happened to him? Just a few years ago, he'd have been able to go twice this distance without feeling anything. Now, though...now he just felt old.

"Jald, are you alright?" Garic Riverblade's gaze turned on him. The younger otter's fur was plastered to his skin by sweat, though if he felt half of the exhaustion Jald did, he hid it very well.

"Yeah, fine," Jald grunted lightly, pulling himself back up. "Just feeling a bit tired. Nothing I can't handle. I can still keep up with you kids." He flashed a grin, but to Eroket, he must have looked like a bad actor. Ero knew him too well.

"You need to rest," The ermine replies softly, folding his arms. "You're no good if you just drop from exhaustion."

Garic gave Eroket a look. "If we stop now, we might not get there in time, Eroket."

"An hour won't make a difference, otter," Eroket shot back, "And without Jald, we might as well slit our wrists here!"

Garic pursed his lips and replied, "There's no time to waste! If my people got the message by now, there's no telling if they'll even deem this important enough to arrive! Meaning, it'll be three of us against an entire ship fleet, plus Crimson Tears, plus the Ice Wolves!"

Eroket's amber eyes narrowed sharply, "Not important enough? A border skirmish was important enough to kill my people over!"  
"That wasn't our fault!"

"I have a hundred dead Calpathians who might disagree!"

"They told us you were killing innocents…" Garic replied softly, "They showed us the bodies…what we thought you'd done-"

"Save it," Eroket muttered lightly, shaking his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go off at you like that. It's behind us."

Jald growled lightly, "Both of you, enough. We've been through this so I don't want to hear another word of it as long as we're together. Garic, how much further away is Calishan from out position?"

The otter examined the trees for a moment. "A day or two at most. I'm guessing Jirik and the others have caught up to Calishan."

Eroket nodded. "Meaning we don't have much time now. Garic, if your people got the message and mobilize a force, how much longer could it take?"

The Iridian thought for a moment, "The same time. We have fast ships, and given the distance from Calishan."

"Meaning if they're coming, we have just enough time," Jald smiled, pulling himself up. His sword felt like it weighed a ton on his back, but he choked down any complaints. "Come on, Garic's right. Make every second count."

They started again, none willing to admit weakness or exhaustion as they sped their pace back to Calishan.

Dukat Nidas sat calmly in the main cabin of his ship, studying the charts in front of him. Calishan was a mere few days journey away and the wildcat warlord wished to conclude the business of an attack and finish the problems with the rebellions in his island kingdoms. Other corsair lords had fallen, toppled from their thrones by this Mordath creature, the son of the Droka line. The Wave Lord bared his fangs and hissed in rage. He was bound by his word before his crews ever since that blind fox had killed one of his best warriors. He'd honor his word to the master of Crimson Tears, but when their bargain was done, there'd be a reckoning with Geras. Perhaps the Ice Wolves might find a new employer more malleable in their service upon the Southern Isles?

Geras had been a help in some areas, at least, with the weapons he had supplied. Damascus Flame, for instance. Only a few even heard of it, but those who did knew what an infallible and deadly weapon it truly was. Geras had, no doubt, kept the vast remainder for himself, but Dukat didn't mind. He planned to own all that Geras did eventually.

He was taking a number of powerful ships, including his new flagship the Riven Keeper, but he had left enough to safeguard against any possible attacks from those damned rebels.

Dukat uncorked a bottle of wine and took a long pull, wiping his mouth with the back of a paw. He felt better now than he had in years. One did not become ruler of the largest corsair force in the south if one couldn't plan properly, and Dukat planned for things beyond the south. Soon indeed, he'd see his domain expand.

Though some names would have to be changed; Crimson Tears indeed.

Mordath walked the deck of his ship, watching the Islands recede in the distance, smiling lightly. "Tell me true, Mahk. Do you really think I'd do well as a ruler around here?"

The cadaverous stoat looked over and gave a light smile, leaning against the railing, watching the shining blue sea. "I've never been comfortable with rulers myself, Taren. You know that."

Mordath laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Well, it's the fighting part I'm good at. The coin counting and law making I could do without."

Mahk nodded and looked at his friend. "So, we're going to leave when Nidas is dead?"

"Yeah," Mordath nodded. "I've made up my mind. Don't try to change it."

"That's a course in futility," The stoat grinned, adjusting his gloves. "Thanks for still having time to make me my tea, by the way."

"It keeps you alive," Mordath replied lightly. "It's the least I can do for a friend, Mahk."

The stoat was silent for a moment. "You think you'd go back, even if you could?"

The fox shook his head, closing his eyes. "No. Not now, not ever. What's happened is done. Sariss'd kill me, besides."

The two shared a light laugh and Mahk smiled at his friend. "To Sariss, hm?"

"To Sariss," Mordath smiled and nodded. "When this ends, it's time to live again. I'm thinking maybe we'll go north."

"Dress warm," Mahk smiled as he watched a school of fish swim by."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Mordath laughed.

The waters were calm, even peaceful. Mordath knew, within several days this would change.

He was chasing Dukat Nidas. He was going to kill Dukat Nidas. Then he was going to leave the Southern Isles and leave their inhabitants to rule him. He was sick of war for now. Perhaps in the north, he and his men would be able to find their place.

Maybe he'd have them set up a mill. The looks on their faces when he announced that would be priceless.


End file.
